Catch Me If You Can
by scarylolita
Summary: The boys are off to college and Cartman insists they participate in the frosh week scavenger hunt. They'll be getting drunk, getting naked, getting lucky and perhaps even arrested, but unfortunately, they aren't in for purely fun and games. The past comes back to haunt them and they're all forced to pay the price for childhood mistakes they once buried. Slash, Kyman & Crenny.
1. KB: The list

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**This started out as just something silly but it eventually grew a bit… horror-esque. Also, I don't even know anything about American schools, so their campus is fictional. **

**Kyle's POV**

* * *

It's the first week of college and I can tell dorm life will be very different from living with my parents. A bunch of us decided to attend the same school so we could experience the college years together and not grow apart. It seemed like a nice idea, but now I'm kind of unsure. Do I really want to spend the next four years with Cartman? I used to fantasize about university and the possibility of getting away from him… but shit happens and things change, I suppose. I guess I'll just have to put my distaste aside if I want my university experience to be pleasant.

And speak of the devil –

"You guys, you guys!" Cartman shouts as he barges into the room I share with Stan. He's waving around a piece of paper frantically, eyes buggering out of his head.

"What?" I sigh warily.

"Let's do this!" he shouts some more. "We _have_ to do this, I am so seriously!"

"You're so_ seriously_, hm?" I ask in a teasing tone.

"I've never been this seriously before," he continues, not quite catching my taunt.

"What is it?" Stan asks, sounding a little curious.

"It's a scavenger hunt," the fat ass explains.

I raise my eyebrow, not quite liking the sound of that. I snatch the paper from him and read it.

SCAVENGER HUNT

9PM – 5AM

SIGN UP IN SETON CENTER

(NO MORE THAN SIX MEMBERS – MUST BE 18 OR OLDER)

Holy hell, that hardly sounds safe. "No," is all I say as I hand it back to him.

"What?" he whines. "Why not?"

"Are you seriously asking me that?" I scoff. "Do you know how horrific those frosh week hunts can get? It doesn't say eighteen plus just for the sake of it. The tasks can get really brutal and nasty. I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm not looking to get naked for anyone."

"So, what?" Cartman shrugs. "There's a reward."

"What is it?" I inquire. Surely it's not worth making a fool of ourselves.

"Three thousand bucks."

"That's not that much," I say. "Between six people, that's only five hundred dollars. I'm not embarrassing myself for that little. Jesus Christ…"

"Come on, Kyle," Stan cuts in, trying to reason with me. "It might be fun. Scavenger hunts are part of the frosh experience. Besides, it's always good to go outside your comfort zone. If you don't join us, you'll just have to spend the next few days hearing us talk about it."

"Like I care." I cross my arms stubbornly.

"Kinny's in if you guys are," Cartman adds. "He's trying to recruit Clyde and Craig-Fag."

"That'd be fucking funny," I snort. "If you can manage to convince Craig, I'll surely go."

"Craig will totally come," Cartman insists. "He won't want to be the odd one out."

"I don't think Craig cares about being the odd one out."

"I think Craig cares about a lot more than he lets on."

"Right," I scoff. What a weird thought.

* * *

But sure enough, Craig comes along with us and Stan drags me to Seton center to meet up with the guys. The frosh leaders are standing in the front of the room looking like they're so high and mighty. I hate this stupid hierarchy.

"Okay, _kids_," one of them starts tauntingly, "We've got thirty tasks for you to try and complete. Photo and video evidence is, of course, necessary. If it doesn't explicitly say the task must be completed with a stranger, you're free to do it with a team member. If it doesn't state how many people are to participate, it doesn't matter as long as one teammate does the task."

"You have the whole night to complete the list," the other adds after all the rules are explained, "So we'll see you all back here when the sun comes up… Now disperse, have fun and be safe."

I begin reading the list, noticing how the tasks grow more embarrassing as the list goes on –

1. Picture with a cop - 5 points

2. Propose to a stranger – 5 points

3. Get a stranger to propose to you – 5 points

4. Use a raunchy pickup line on a stranger – 5 points

5. Climb a tree and reach the top – 5 points

6. Get a girl's phone number – 10 points

7. Get a boy's phone number – 10 points

8. Picture with a live wild animal – 10 points

9. Video of you throwing a temper tantrum in public – 10 points

10. Order dinner at a restaurant and say grace before eating – 10 points

11. Do karaoke – 15 points

12. Get the shyest group member to buy a dildo – 15 points

13. Get a stranger to give you a piggy back – 15 points

14. Find some inappropriate graffiti – 15 points

15. Tell a stranger your most twisted fantasy – 15 points

16. Skinny dip in a fountain – 20 points

17. Video of a teammate pole dancing (any kind of pole works) – 20 points

18. Have a stranger give you a sharpie tattoo – 20 points

19. Video of a bar fight – 20 points

20. Have a stranger to buy you condoms – 20 points

21. Get a female's panties – 30 points

22. Get a male's boxers – 30 points

23. First base with a stranger – 30 points

24. Get in trouble with the cops – 30 points

25. Go to a bar and flirt with the oldest person you see – 30 points

26. Fake an orgasm in public – 40 points

27. Document someone getting sick – 50 points

28. Give or get a lap dance – 60 points

29. Third base with a stranger (below belt) – 70 points

30. Complete all tasks – 80 points

"Are some of these even legal?" I mumble. "Jesus Christ…" What a scandalous list.

"Shit," Cartman hisses after reading over my shoulder. "We don't have any girls in our group!"

"So?" I ask. "It isn't like we need to complete them all.

"Yes, we do," he says. "I want to win that money."

I only sigh.

"Well," Cartman snickers, "Kinny has a busy night ahead of him." I'm not looking forward to this. It's just going to give Cartman an excuse to torture Kenny and me with the worst tasks.

"Why's that?" Kenny cuts in.

"You'll be doing most of these. It'll give you an excuse to act like a slut. Think of it as practice for your future career."

Kenny raises an eyebrow. "And what may that be, Eric?" He sounds somewhat exasperated, as if he knows exactly what's about to be said because it's been said so many times before.

"Porn star," he says.

"I'm not gonna do porn, fat-tits."

"Then a prostitute, perhaps?"

"No. That's your mom," Kenny smirks.

"Ay!" Cartman shouts, clearly offended.

Kenny only laughs at his anger. Kenny wants to make something of himself. Unlike his parents, he wants to be someone. That's why we all know he's not going to choose that kind of career. Sure, he's a big pervert, but he's more than just that.

"Guys," Clyde cuts in, "We should get started instead of fighting about it."

"Clyde's right," Stan agrees, "What's first?"

"We should do the easiest ones first," I suggest. "After that, we should probably go find a party."

"I'd say let's go to a bar, but we're underage," Clyde says.

"Who cares?" Kenny adds, shrugging his shoulders. "I've been to loads of bars. At some, they won't ask unless you order a drink. It's a good place to start."

"So, are we decided?" Cartman asks.

"I think so," I say.

"Then let's go already!" he yells, ushering everyone out the door. A moment later, he pulls Kenny aside and says, "I think we're gonna have to get the J-E-W a little drunk and loosen him up a bit."

I'm surprised he spelled _Jew_ right this time. Usually it's J-O-O. "I can hear you," I holler. "I can also spell."

"Okay, but seriously, Kahl," Cartman saunters next to me and pulls a silver flask out of his bag. "Just sip on this."

I snatch it from him. "What's in it?" I ask suspiciously.

"Whisky," he tells me.

Gross. "I hate whisky…" I wrinkle my nose.

He smirks. "But it'll make the night so much more enjoyable for you. Trust me."

I shake my head at him, but I open the cap nonetheless and take a sip. Tastes awful. "Disgusting," I grimace. "How did you even get this shit?"

"I jacked a bottle from my mum while I was packing my crap."

"She won't miss it?" I ask.

"She hardly knows what she does and doesn't have," Cartman snorts.

Fair enough… "Let's go to the downtown area," I suggest.

"Yeah, there's a sex shop on the way," Craig states, reading a map on his phone as we walk. "We can do that one, too."

"Who's the shyest?" Stan asks, glancing at everyone.

"Kahl," Cartman insists.

"No, I'm not!" I deny. "Stan is."

"Am I?" Stan asks.

"Maybe if we were ten you would be, but not anymore," Kenny cuts in. Whose side is he on, anyway?

"Who here is a virgin?" Cartman asks, crossing his arms and looking like he's trying to solve an important mystery, though that's hardly the case. No one raises an arm. Naturally. Cartman rolls his eyes. "Okay, who here is a virgin but doesn't want to admit it? I know we all haven't had sex."

"You're probably a virgin, fatty," I grit out.

"Nope!" he grins proudly. "I lost it in grade ten."

"You told us that, but I don't believe it," I say. "This is the type of thing you'd do! You'd hype it all up to disguise the fact that you're a virgin."

"I'm not a virgin, Kahl," he insists.

"It's true," Kenny snorts. "He's not."

"What?" I ask. "How do you know?"

"He lost it to Lola," he says. "I'm friends with her. She shamelessly admitted to it."

"Why would anyone admit to that?" I ask with a grimace.

"She said he was good," Kenny chuckles.

"Jesus Christ!" I groan.

Cartman laughs and laughs and laughs. "Okay, so we all know Stan fucked Wendy.. that was big news," he starts, "and Kinny is a whore who fucked half high school's female population. Clyde?"

"Bebe, duh," he says.

"Ah, right," Cartman mumbles, looking like he's mentally ticking off our names. "Craig, then?"

"I slept with Red in grade nine," he states somewhat disdainfully. Unfortunately, we all remember that night. Kenny thought it would be funny to get Craig good and drunk at Red's birthday party. It didn't end well. Craig was never the kind of guy who partook in alcohol. He didn't used to like things that mess around with his perception so dramatically. Weed is his drug of choice. He likes to keep it organic. I hear he's done shrooms a few times, but I'm not sure if that's just rumors. None of that swayed Kenny in the least. He was determined and we all got to learn Craig is a fucking weird drunk. He ended up taking off all his clothes and acting like it was no big deal. There Craig was: stark nude with a bottle of beer, walking, or rather, _stumbling_ around the party and yelling at everyone who gave him a weird look.

At the time, Red liked Craig, and it was probably the best present Kenny could've given her. Unintentional, of course. They ended up sleeping together that night. I got to see it firsthand when I was trying to find a bathroom to puke in. A lot of people saw it. It was like Craig was barely conscious and Red was in her own world. They didn't notice the people watching them fuck. On Monday, everyone at school was talking about it. I don't think Craig has quite forgiven Kenny for pulling that little stunt. I doubt he intended for Craig to make an exhibitionist of himself, but nonetheless. I'd be pissed off, too. Craig is kind of reserved about most things. He missed a week of school and when he came back, he acted like nothing happened the previous weekend. Most people just went along with it. I think they were scared what Craig would do if it was brought up. He had a tough rep, but a few jocks thought it was funny and kept saying Craig got "raped by a chick". I think the whole thing is just fucking awful.

"Then that leaves Kyle," Cartman says, smiling sweetly at me. He left me last on purpose. He knows I'm the only virgin here. Fat asshole. "Kahl," he coos in a sugary tone. "Are you a virgin?"

"Fine," I snap. "Yes, I am and you know it!"

"Nothing wrong with that," Kenny says, patting my shoulder. "It's cute."

"The virgin goes," Cartman smirks and I glare at him.

"Just because I'm a virgin, it doesn't mean I'm shy!" I protest, though I suppose I am a little shy.

"The virgin goes," he repeats himself, not swayed by my attempt.

"I don't want to," I complain.

"Then down that liquid courage, Broflovski," he says in a business-like tone, "Because we'll be there in about ten minutes."

I sigh loudly and angrily as I take another sip and another sip and another. I'm hardly drunk by the time we reach the sex shop. Whisky is too hard to drink on its own.

"Kyle," Kenny dramatically sings my name, pulling my face into his chest. "You can do it."

"No," I deadpan.

He smiles, ruffling my hair.

"What kind should I get?" I ask angrily.

"I don't know, it's your money," Cartman gives me a lecherous grin. "Get the one you like the most."

God! How humiliating! I feel like dying right about now. I slowly approach the glass door, opening it and praying I can find what I need quickly without asking questions. There's a rough looking guy at the cash desk reading a magazine with a naked woman on it. This is all too stereotypical. If I have to ask that man anything I'll probably faint. "Hello," he says, nodding to me before looking back down at the magazine.

"Hi," I say evenly.

"Lemme know if you need any help," he offers, good naturedly.

"Will do, thanks," I tell him before sauntering behind the nearest rack. Jesus Christ, here they are in all their phallic glory. There's so many of them. I don't know how I'm supposed to decide. I let out a sigh, reaching for the cock-shaped object before sauntering back to the cashier. This truly is a nightmare.

"All set?" he asks.

"Yes," I place the damn thing on the counter. My cheeks are probably red as fucking tomatoes because the man is smiling as he rings me in.

"I've already had a couple of you kids," he says.

"Excuse me?" I ask, almost choking on my own spit as the words slide out.

"You're not the first timid kid to come in here tonight. You're on a scavenger hunt, right?" he chuckles, putting the dildo in a bag for me as I punch in my debit card password.

"Yes," I tersely mumble as I remove the card.

"Well, good luck."

"Thank you," I say as he hands me the bag. I calmly leave the store and the guys are all there waiting for me. Cartman has his camera in the air as I leave the store. "Ah, such sweet, sweet memories," he sighs happily. "I wish I could have seen the look on your face. Damn, your cheeks are some pink."

"Ass," I insult him.

"Clyde climbed a nearby tree with surprising ease while you were in there, so that ticks off another."

"Great…" I say cynically.

"So, show us what you got," he requests, holding out his hand while still filming. I hand him the bag, feeling pretty sour. "How nice, green _is_ your color," he smirks, inspecting the contents. "Why don'tcha stick it up your ass. Maybe that'll earn us a few extra points."

I snatch the bag back from him before letting out a loud and angry growl and throwing my fist into his smug face.

"Ow, shit!" he yells, holding his nose with the hand that isn't currently holding the camera.

"I'm putting this _thing_ in here," I say to Kenny, unzipping the backpack hanging off his shoulder and putting away the phallic object.

"Okay, no problem," he snickers.

"Next task, then?" Stan asks, looking humoured.

I shoot him an angry glance and he laughs guiltily, apologizing, "I'm sorry." He gives me a brief, one armed hug and says, "I'll make sure Cartman doesn't make you do all the embarrassing stuff."

"Lovely," I mumble.

"Look," Clyde points to a parked cop car. "Wasn't there one about a police?"

"Yeah," Cartman glances down at the list again. "We need a photo of one of us with a cop. How about it, Braceface?"

"Don't call me that," Craig says.

"Why not?" Cartman snorts. "You have braces."

Craig's eyes narrow.

"Come on, fag," the fat ass reasons crudely. "You need to do something."

Craig sighs before approaching the car and knocking on the driver's seat window.

"Yes?" the cop asks after rolling down the window.

"Can we get a picture with you?" Craig asks in an awkward murmur.

The cop laughs knowingly, "Is this a frosh week thing?"

"Yeah," Craig confirms.

"All right, sure, kid." He opens his door, getting out.

"Smile," Cartman sings as he raises his camera.

The cop smiles. Craig doesn't. Instead, he flips Cartman off.

"Hey, now pretend to arrest him!" Cartman shouts. The cop laughs, but obliges, forcing Craig down onto the hood of the car. Craig looks completely unimpressed and Cartman films the whole damn thing. Craig will be sour for the rest of the night.

"Thank you, Sir!" Kenny says afterward as Craig wordlessly sidles up next to him. "See, Craig, that wasn't so bad."

Craig just gives him an airy look, not bothering to respond.

"Okay, great," Cartman says, crossing another task off the list. "Let's head to the bar now."

I'm dreading it. This will surely be the worst part of the night.


	2. EC: The life of a photographer

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Thanks for reviewing :) !**

**Eric's POV**

* * *

We're nearing the bar and I am lecturing everyone about the dangers of Judaism. It's always a fun time to get a rise out of dear, sweet Kyle. "Ain't that right, Kyeeel?" I smile after finishing yet another tirade about the danger of sneaky, greedy Jews.

"Stop butchering my name!" he shrieks, clawing at me like a wild animal as Stan holds him back. I'm so good at getting him riled up. It's beautiful. "It's Kyle! KYLE! Not _Kahl_ and definitely not _Kyeel_!" he insists repeatedly. Yeah, like a give a shit.

"Okay, Kahl," I say condescendingly, not at all fazed by his most recent angry outburst. "I have just the task for you. You can throw the temper tantrum. You're awfully good at it."

"I'm not doing that," he bites out pushing the camera out of his face.

"But you're already half way there," I reason with him. "On top of being a little drunk, you look like you're ready to explode, Jew."

It's quiet for a moment until Kyle just starts screaming as loud as he can and Jesus fucking Christ the Jew can scream. He's got a top set of lungs. "I HAVE A FUCKING NAME!"

I just snicker, recording his anger along with the reactions of nearby people. Once Kyle stops screaming insults, he hisses an impressive string of expletives in my direction. I just smirk, holding the camera up. Hell, what a show. He rips himself out of Stan's grip and eyes me.

I'm laughing loudly until he chooses to punch me in the gut. "Ow, fuck!" I groan.

He does it again.

"Jesus Christ! Someone take him," I say, struggling to hold the camera up.

"Okay, Kyle," Stan says, patting his super best butt buddy on the shoulder.

An older woman tentatively approaches us and asks, "Is he okay?"

"Yeah, he does this shit all the time," I answer. "Anger management problems. Intense ones." It's true. I've known it since we were young and I first got unpleasantly introduced to his sharp tongue and extensively impressive range of expletives. Smart guy, smart mouth.

"Only when it comes to you," Kyle spits bitterly.

"Wow," I smirk. "I'm touched I can make you react so violently." It does give me a sick sort of pleasure to know I can get him so riled up. When we were kids, his mother made him see a therapist about his anger. That went on for six years. He's still angry, but he's not as wildly psychotic as he used to be. Though, I suppose he just showed us all that he still has it in 'im. I can't help but enjoy it.

Kyle lets out a sigh and collects himself. "Fat fuck…" he mumbles and suddenly it's quiet again. Eerily so.

"Oh, my God," Clyde whispers, letting out a breath. "That was really scary… I'm really scared."

"Are you sure he's okay?" the old bag asks. Jesus Christ, people need to start minding their own damn business.

"Yeah, lady. He's fine," I roll my eyes, irritated. "He's just a drama queen."

Once the troll finally fucks off, we make our way to our next destination.

* * *

At the bar, there are some girls singing horrific karaoke on stage. I try to block it out as I begin to scope out the crowd. "Kenny," I say. "Go flirt with someone old."

"Someone old?" he raises an eyebrow.

"Yeah," I wave the list around before getting out my camera so I can record the night's evidence.

"God, this is fucking retarded," Kyle says angrily, crossing his arms.

"Shut up, Kahl, you'll get your turn again soon," I promise him offhandedly as I change the settings on the little screen.

A moment later, Kenny brings over an older chick. "Hey, Eric," he says, introducing me to her. "I told her we need a photo of the prettiest woman in the bar for our hunt." Good cover up, smooth talker. God, Kenny's such a freak. I just smile, raising my camera. Kenny disappears shortly after I take the picture.

"Where'd that stupid slut go?" I ask angrily.

"How the fuck am I supposed to know?" Kyle growls back, shaking the flask at me

"Yeah, that's right…" I murmur, "Keep drinking, you alcoholic fuck."

Once Kyle is good and drunk, he'll be more willing do to some of the more fucked up shit on that damn list. Awesome.

* * *

Once Kenny finally returns, he shoves something into my hand. "What's this?" I ask, somewhat concerned.

"A thong," he whispers.

"What? Ew," I snap, shoving them into my pocket and wiping my hand on my jeans. "Fucking _sick_…"

"It's on the list," he smirks, holding up a piece of paper. "I also got her phone number."

"Jesus Christ, you crazy bastard," I laugh, slapping him on the back before sending Clyde up on stage with Stan to do karaoke. "What about the boxer shorts?"

Kenny shrugs. "It doesn't say they need to be a stranger's. We can use mine."

"A'right," I say, ticking off yet another task.

"Clyde is really bad at singing," Kenny laughs.

"Yeah, but don't tell him that until he's off stage," I warn. "I told him he wasn't _that_ bad, which is why he agreed to go up there in the first place."

"Right," he snorts.

"Who should we make do the gay ones?" I ask.

Kenny shrugs once more.

"Kyle!" I point at the Jew.

"What?" He frowns. "I'm not doing anything raunchy, perv."

"Calm down, spaz, you'll get to return to the dorm with your virginity still intact," I promise him. "Go sit alone somewhere and wait to be hit on by a dude."

"Hell no!" he shakes his head frantically, waving his arms around.

I roll my eyes. "Man up, bitch."

His jaw tightens.

"Go hard or go home," I tell him.

"Fine," he seethes, sauntering off and taking a seat on a barstool.

The rest of us sit down at a booth, conversing mildly while we wait for the magic to happen. It doesn't take long for some blond dude to sit down next to Kyle and strike up conversation.

A half an hour later, Kyle stands up and makes eyes at us before walking to the opposite end of the bar. We all share a look of confusion before standing up and following him.

"What was that about?" I ask.

"He talked too much," Kyle says. "He was persistent and creepy. I told him I had to leave."

"Did you get the phone number?" Because that's all that fucking matters.

"I didn't even need to ask him for it," he hands me a piece of paper. "He gave it to me right away."

I smirk at Kyle. "See, that wasn't so hard?" I say. "This night is going swimmingly."

* * *

We got to complete most of our dares at the bar, thank Christ. Including the bar fight, which ended up being me and Kyle. Naturally. Kenny ended up getting the lap dance, which was totally gross to watch. The worst is over. It'll be easy sailing from here on out.

"Hey, what pick up line did you use, by the way?" Kyle asks once we step outside.

"Guuurl, you bettah have a license, 'cause you drivin' me craaazy," Kenny quotes himself before breaking out into laughter.

"Oh, God," Kyle laughs along with him. "That is really, really fucking bad."

Clyde and Stan laugh, too, and Craig just shakes his head. Nothing impresses that stoic and emotionless bastard.

"Oh, dude!" Kenny declares, running off.

"What?"

"Oh, look!" he shouts. We all turn around and he begins humping a lamp pole. "Pole dancing," he declares.

Without a word, I get out my camera. Tonight, his gross ways have definitely been a good thing. "Kenny," I say. "For the first time, I am happy you're such a shameless whore."

"Aw, shut up, dude," he flips me off. "Be nice or I won't do any more of these stupid things for you and you won't get your money."

I nod solemnly, zipping my lips shut… but we all know that won't last for long. Kenny is stupid to even ask it. "So, where's my flask?" I turn to Kyle.

"In my sweater pocket," he says, digging it out.

"Keep suckin' it down, Kahl," I tell him.

"Why?" he asks, narrowing his eyes.

"Just do it," I pat his back. I have it all planned out.

He gives me a suspicious look before taking a long sip. Craig is silent as ever, while Stan and Clyde converse about something dumb. They're both retarded. They're probably talking about how they both have an IQ of 60.

"How many do we have left to do?" Kenny asks.

"Like ten," I say, pulling out the list and staring at it.

"Shit, still that many?" he sighs.

I nod. "We're more than half way done."

"What one are we gonna do next?"

"Let's break for a late dinner," I say. "I want KFC."

"Of course you do," Kyle mumbles.

So we make our way to the nearest KFC. I've been craving the Colonel's chicken all day. This is going to be satisfying. Once we order, we take a seat and place the food in the center of the table. As the list asks, we now must say grace.

"Who wants to do the honours?" I ask once we all join hands. "Kahl?"

"No," he flat our refuses.

"Fine, I'll do it," I sneer, putting my camera setting on record and setting it on the table. "All right," I clear my throat. "We thank you, Lord, for the gift of the Colonel's chicken… We would also like to thank you, Jesus Christ, for dying for all our sins… except for Kahl."

Kyle scoffs, kicking me in the shins under the table.

"Jew!" I hiss.

"People are staring," Clyde notes.

I turn around and decide to call the onlookers out. "What?" I ask. "Haven't you ever said grace before? It's proper to thank the Lord before you eat." Total bullshit. This is the first time I've said grace in my life.

"Remember the time my mom got KFC and Cartman ate all the skin?" Stan chuckles. "Kenny cried."

"Hey," Kenny says defensively, "I hadn't eaten in, like, a week. I was hungry and looking forward to KFC."

"I don't get why you got so mad," I shrug. "I left you the chicken part."

"The skin. Is. The best. Part," Kenny reiterates.

I just roll my eyes.

* * *

Kyle is still working on that damn flask, but he's stumbling by now and a whole lot chattier. Still annoying, but less coherent when he swings his fists.

We walk past a nearby park, where a bunch of drunkards are hanging out on a playground.

"Let's ask them if they wanna help us with some of this shit," I suggest.

Kyle shakes his head. "No, they look like criminals."

"Jew," I tersely warn, ignoring him as I approach them. The closer I get, the stronger the smell gets. Yup, these guys are definitely smoking pot. Man… stupid fucking hippies.

"Wassaaaaap?" one of them yells as they spot me.

"We're on a scavenger hunt," I start.

"Frosh week?" another one laughs, lighting a joint.

"Yeah," I say, trying not to grimace at the rank odour lingering in the vicinity.

"We know the drill."

I nod. "Great, saves me some breath."

A greasy looking guy stands up. "So, what am I doing?"

"You can go ahead and propose to one of my friends."

"Okay," he laughs. "Which one?"

"Whoever tickles your fancy."

"Dude, I ain't gay," he states.

"So?" He just shrugs as I wave the guys over. "See, Kahl," I say, smiling. "They weren't criminals."

"Criminals?" Stoner #1 asks.

Kyle stumbles slightly and Kenny grabs his arm, helping him keep his balance.

"Looks like your little buddy there had a bit too much to drink," Stoner #1 snorts.

"He's a champ all right," I mumble as I dig out my camera.

"What's the drunk's name?"

"Kahl Broflovski," I inform him.

"What the hell kind of last name is that?" he sounds outraged and Kyle looks irritated.

"Jewish," is all I say, and the guy nods understandingly before getting down on one knee.

"Kyle Broflovski," he starts, taking the Jew's hand, "will you do the honour of marrying me?"

"Oh, I do," Kyle says cynically, with poorly feigned shock and joy. Heis so damn sour. Sometimes I think he's worse than Craig Tucker, and that's saying a hell of a lot.

We continue to finish task number two, forcing Clyde to do the proposing this time. Afterward, the piggy back.

"Who wants a ride?" Stoner #2 asks.

"Well, Kahl is the lightest," I say.

"And the drunkest, by the look of things," he snorts. "He ain't gonna puke on me, is he?"

"I assure you, he will not," I promise, though part of me is hoping he does. What a riot.

Kyle looks like he's hardly conscious. He's totally dead weight on this greasy dude's back. "That made me dizzy," he declares once he's on the ground again.

"You okay?" Kenny asks, helping him stand still.

"I think so?" he sounds unsure.

"Playgrounds are usually magnets for crude art and words, right?" I ask the stoners.

"Right," Stoner #2 agrees.

"Do you know if there's any on this playground? We need a photo of something nasty."

"I can draw something right now," he offers, pulling out a sharpie marker.

I could kiss this greasy motherfucker. He draws a proud dick on the playground slide, smiling down at his creation. "That is of frightening proportion," Kyle says, grimacing and Kenny is still helping him walk around steadily.

"Draw one of those on Kahl," I say.

"No!" Kyle protests. "Do it on Cartman!"

I just laugh loudly and he tries to kick me, but doesn't quite make it. The _mighty_ has fallen. The stoner ends up drawing a happy face on Kyle's hand. I guess that'll do. "Kahl, why don't you tell everyone here what your sickest fantasy is," I say afterward, looking at what's next on the task list. Whoever made this damn list is a sadistic fuck. Probably not quite as bad as I am, but they're up there, that's for sure.

"No," he snaps.

"Why not?" I ask, clicking record and readying my camera once more.

"Private things should remain private," he says, sounding shrill.

"One time," Kenny starts, "I had a dream that I was having surgery and after I was drugged, the doctor fucked me."

Kyle grimaces at that.

"Not sure if it qualifies as a fantasy, but I woke up with a pretty serious hard on. Sometimes when I'm horny, I still think about it. So, I guess it kind of is a fantasy."

"That _is_ fucked up!" I tell him, laughing. Not that I'm surprised. Kenny's the most depraved person I know.

"Don't shame me," Kenny scolds. I never know whether or not he's serious when he uses that tone of voice.

"Come on," I say, looking at my watch. "Let's find a convenient store. It's almost 3 and we need to finish this damn list."

* * *

Afterward, we bid the rank smelling hippies a farewell before moving onto our final tasks. "We're so damn close to finishing," I say. "I can almost taste the money." I can also still smell the potheads, unfortunately.

"What's left?" Kenny asks.

"Wild animal, skinny dip in a fountain, have a stranger buy you condoms, photo proof of someone vomiting and fake an orgasm in public," I read.

"Oh, dude," Stan grimaces, "the last one…"

"You wanna do it?" I offer.

"Hell fucking no," he snorts.

"I say we make the Jew do it," I whisper. "He's so drunk he won't even remember it in the morning."

"No way in hell."

We all turn to look at Kenny, who rolls his eyes.

"Fine, I get it," he says knowingly.

"Make it loud and make us proud!" I wink.

Kenny begins humping the air and letting out these fake and totally hilarious moans. "Oh yeah, oh yeah, ohhhh yeaahhh!" he yells. "You like that? Who's your daddy? I'm your daddy!"

"Oh my God," Kyle mumbles, shaking his head.

"Hnnggg! Oh yeah, oooh yeeeeeeah!" Kenny continues with his ongoing pelvic thrusts and grunts. "Just like that, baby! Just like that!"

"I'm uncomfortable," Clyde says. Stan is laughing and laughing and laughing, while Craig just looks pissed, yet again.

Once Kenny's grossly exaggerated performance is over, he nudges me and mutters, "You owe me one, man."

"Why's that?" I ask.

"Without me, you would never be able to complete that fucking list."

Hah. Probably true.

* * *

Once we find a convenient store, we loiter outside until the right looking guy for the task comes out. "We're on a hunt," I start. "We need a stranger to buy condoms for us."

"Sure, I'll do it," he smiles. "If you buy be a pack of cigs."

"Ugh, you're breakin' my balls," I tell him, but I agree nonetheless.

I take a picture of the douche holding the condom package once he returns and another item is ticked off the list. "Is there a fountain nearby?" I ask.

"Yeah," he nods. "It's by some government building."

"Where?"

"Go down this street and then take the first left turn. Keep going and you'll see it soon enough."

"Okay," I say. "Great."

"Thanks for the cigs," he smirks before walking off. Fuckin' asshole.

"Here, Kenny," I toss him the condoms. "You can have these. I'm sure you'll need them soon. Your safety is of utmost importance."

He rolls his eyes, but shoves them in his backpack nonetheless. Free shit, he ain't gonna complain.

* * *

Just like the guy said, soon enough we reach the fountain. It's hard to miss. It's one of those really massive fountains with water coming out of a statue's mouth. "Who wants to go for a swim?" I ask with an expectant smile.

"Skinny dip in a fountain? How is that one only worth 20 points?" Kenny asks, outraged as he reads the task list over my shoulder. "There's nudity involved!"

"If it's you, it isn't that special," I snort. "Not like everyone hasn't already seen your fuckin' dick. The market price has gone down drastically."

"Shut up or I won't do it," he shoves me and I hold up my hands innocently, surrendering. Kenny glances around to make sure there is no one around. At this hour, it's unlikely.

"Since when are you shy?" I snort.

"I don't want to get arrested for public nudity, you fucking asshole," he growls.

I roll my eyes. "Wow, chill out, poor boy." He sighs, shaking his head at me. "Come on," I urge him. "We don't have all night."

"The things I do…" he mumbles, trailing off as he begins to undress.

"Why's Kenny getting naked?" Kyle slurs slowly, looking dazed.

"Don't worry about it, Kyle," I dismiss him.

"Because he's a whore and can't help it," Craig supplies, speaking up for the first time in hours.

"Ouch!" I laugh. "Harsh words, Tucker."

"It isn't harsh if it's true," he insists tartly.

Kenny ignores all of this. Once he's in his birthday suit, Kenny cups a hand over his dick and waddles to the fountain. I get out my camera and change the setting to suit the lack of light. Kenny sits down in the fountain, probably not wanting his dangling junk to be the star of the photo.

Once that is said and done, I check the list. "We still need a picture of a wild animal," I say.

"Do birds count?" Kenny asks, standing up and getting out of the fountain.

"Probably," I shrug.

He points to a lamp post. "There's one perched up over there," he says before picking up his clothes and pulling them on over his damp skin.

"Fuckin' sweet," I mumble, raising my camera.

"I fell sick," Kyle slurs loudly in a high pitched and whiny voice.

After taking the picture of the stupid bird, I spin around. "You… _fell_ sick?" It's about damn time! Oh, please, God, I hope he pukes. This will be the night's finale.

Kenny is rubbing Kyle's back as he sits on a nearby bench with his head in his hands. "Why'd I drink that much?" he asks.

"Sometimes people forget how much they've had to drink," Kenny offers.

Kyle lets out a groan before spitting on the ground.

"So classy, Jew," I say.

"Screw off…" he moans.

I give him a slap on the back and he begins to cough. I manage to get my camera ready just before the contents of his stomach dive out of his mouth and onto the pavement. "Thank the lord, you beautiful bastard!" I shout to the heavens. "What a perfect way to end the night."

"Fuck you," Kyle manages to choke out.

Bless his heart.

* * *

It was a messy night, full of nudity and sexual acts I'd rather not have witnessed… but such is the life of a photographer. "We have completed all these fucking tasks," I say, satisfied.

"And lived to tell about it," Kenny adds.

We make our way back to the university and hand in my camera along with our gathered items. "First group back and an hour early," the frosh leader smiles. "Nice job." Fuckin' sweet.

Stan is carrying Kyle on his back. I think he's asleep by now. Probably a good thing. Hell, he's going to be so damn hung over in the morning he'll be suicidal.

"Goodnight," Kenny waves as we part ways with the Jew and the hippie.

"Goodnight," Stan smiles before turning down the hall.

"And what a damn night it was," Kenny laughs.

"How can you still be so energetic?" Clyde asks in a whiny voice, shoulders slumped.

"I run on little sleep," he shrugs. "This isn't anything new to me."

"I wish I could say the same," Clyde yawns, tossing an arm around Craig. "It was fun, though. For the most part."

"The money will be the best part," I say. "I'm about 99 percent sure we won."

"That'd be cool," Clyde says, yawning again.

"I'm tired," Craig announces, looking like he's fighting against heavy eyelids. "I'm going to the dorm."

"I'll follow," Clyde says, waving to us before following his roommate.

"Craig is always tired," Kenny mumbles once they're gone.

"Is he?" I ask, disinterested.

He nods, shoving his hands in his pockets. "And even when he's awake, it's like he's asleep."

"Oh yeah? How?"

"He's always fatigued and unenergetic," Kenny explains and it kind of makes me wonder why he knows this shit. "The only difference when he's awake is that his eyes aren't closed."

"The opposite of you," I snort.

Once we arrive to our dorm room, Kenny begins to peel off his sticky clothes. "I'm glad we don't have class tomorrow," he says, throwing on sweatpants and a t-shirt.

"Same," I admit. "Gonna hit the hay?"

"Not just yet," he shrugs. "Might explore the campus a bit more until I feel tired."

I'm honestly surprised Kenny even made it to university. He had shit marks until grade twelve, when he picked up his socks thanks to Kyle's constant nagging. Kyle is so annoying… but it isn't honestly his religion or red hair that pisses me off. Not that I'd ever say that aloud! If he wasn't already insecure about those things, I probably wouldn't even bother making fun of him. Unfortunately for him, he makes it so damn easy. I don't think he even realizes it half the time. What really bothers me is this problem he has where he wants everyone to succeed and be happy and he expects everything to be rainbows and puppies. Thanks to his stupid bitch of a mother, he's lived a sheltered life. The real world isn't like that. The real world won't offer you comfort in times of distress and it definitely won't coddle you. The dumb Jew will learn soon enough. I want to be there when the world finally decides to shit on him.


	3. KM: Breakup

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Kenny's POV**

* * *

Eric left the dorm around 3PM to see if the results were in. I think everyone else is still asleep. I'm still lying in bed, but I've been awake for the past hour. I'm just kind of mulling over everything that happened the other night. I feel pretty stupid over some of it, but no one was fazed because that is just how I am. Right? Of course – and to reiterate my position as the group slut, I slept with the next girl I saw. She was pretty and she gave me sympathy when I told her I was emotionally damaged. I took her to my room and fucked her while Eric was unconscious only to discover that he talks in his sleep. "FUCK OFF!" he shouted and the girl was scandalized. What a fuckin' riot. Oh, well.

A few minutes later, I hear a knock at the door. I let out a groan and stand up to unlock it. I swing it open and Craig is standing there. He's still wearing his pyjama pants and a t-shirt. His hair is also stuck up a bit. He probably just woke up. "Hey," I say, letting him in before closing the door and locking it again for good measure. "What's up?" I ask. "You okay?"

"No," he states.

"What's wrong?"

"We should break up," he says monotonously.

"What?" I ask, raising a brow. "Why?"

"Because clearly I'm not enough for you," he scoffs, as if the answer should be obvious. "I don't enjoy seeing you cheat on me all the fucking time. I don't like being cheated on. I'm not into watching you fuck around with strangers just because you won't tell your goddamn friends you're not single... I hate knowing that you've slept with so many people and that you continue to do so, paying no mind to _me_. Fuck my feelings! You've made it clear that what I feel doesn't matter to you."

"You're jealous?" The possibility is somewhat astounding.

"Jesus Christ, Kenny!" he raises his voice. "Don't I have a right to be?"

I never really pegged Craig as the jealous type. I guess I shouldn't have tried to take advantage of that assumption time and time again. "Yeah," I admit.

"I'm hurt," he says. He doesn't sound hurt, but I know he isn't the kind of person who would show it, so I believe him. "And I'm tired of feeling that way. I'm done with it… I deserve better, don't I?"

I press my lips together, trying to bite my tongue. Yeah, he does deserve better.

"Where to you get off cheating on me like that?" he questions, with quiet outrage."How could you think that was okay?"

"This is supposed to be a secret…" I try to reason.

"I know!" he snaps, closing his eyes for a moment to collect himself. "I get it, okay? I get that you don't want people knowing you're sticking it to a guy, but that doesn't mean you get to do whatever you want! Just because this is a secret, it doesn't mean you have to fuck every girl you see. It doesn't mean you have to be such an asshole."

"Craig, you're an asshole all the time," I tell him.

"Find someone new," he says bitterly. "I'm sure it won't be hard."

"What do you mean by that?" I ask quietly.

"College is a time for experimenting. I'm sure there are lots of guys around who will be happy to put up with fucked up shit your into."

I'd like to tell him it doesn't matter, because when it comes down to it, he's the one I want to be with… Instead, I start yelling. It's like I can't help myself. I have a hard time using filters, especially when I get angry. It doesn't happen often, but it does happen. It's a desperate kind of anger and I feel like I'm not going to win and it won't end well. I hate when I don't get what I want. "Don't fucking talk down to me! You're the same as me, Craig!" I shout, jabbing my finger into his chest. "You're just as fucked up and that's why this worked for so damn long!" I think that much is true. I like fucking hard and fast and he likes being fucked hard and fast. I like choking and he likes being choked. I like biting and he likes being bitten. I like bruises and so does he. It's nothing too wild, but it's not exactly vanilla either.

Craig shoves me, asking, "Oh, yeah?"

"You have no right to talk to me like that. You liked it, too, you know," I say tersely. "You took everything I dished out. What's that say about you?" He doesn't reply. He glances away, staring at the ground. He's probably ashamed. I made him feel ashamed. I'm trying to be less hard on myself, but he's making it so fucking difficult because I keep fucking things up. It's hard to forgive something you've done to someone else.

"You don't get to do that," he whispers. "You don't get to try and make me feel bad about myself."

"Craig…" I say his name. I feel like I should say sorry, but the word doesn't come out. Instead, something else happens and it happens in slow motion – Craig throws the first punch and I don't hesitate to retaliate as I throw the second. Next thing I know, it's a full on fist fight. Craig and I haven't fought since we were little kids and now that we're older, it makes me feel like it won't be something easily fixed. Especially considering the circumstances… You're not exactly supposed to hit the person you're dating.

When I get the upper hand, I sit on Craig's abdomen. We stare at each other for a moment before moving and we turn the fight into something completely different. He grabs a fistful of my shirt and pulls me down so we're face to face. Then he kisses me.

It escalates from there. Clothing is removed in a frantic frenzy and I have him panting against my lips. We stumble towards the bed, where he gets on his knees.

"Yeah… fuck," I moan, tangling my fingers in his hair as I feel the heat of his mouth and tongue. I like watching him when he's sucking me off. Most people look stupid with a dick in their mouth, but Craig looks good. Maybe that's a nasty thing to say about a person, but hey. I'm a nasty guy. Or, that's what everyone says.

"Turn around," I instruct once I'm sufficiently hard, relaxing my grip on his hair.

He bends over the bed and, feeling impatient,I lazily lube my dick with the bottle from my nightstand and then plow right in. I enter fiercely before pulling out and driving in twice as hard. His moans sound like sobs and his body lurches forward with each violent thrust. If the bed wasn't nailed to the floor, I bet it'd be moving.

"Ahh…" his voice is muffled as he presses his face into the mattress, fisting the bed sheets.

We were sixteen when we first screwed around. I nagged him for a drive home from school and he finally relented. I invited him to partake in a gangbang. He refused and I ended up jerking him off while we were parked in my driveway. Kevin saw and laughed at me for it. He called me a fag for a while but I bought him a bag of cocaine and he finally agreed to shut the fuck up about it. With him, drugs are always the answer. After I silenced Kevin, it became a regular thing for me and Craig to hook up in his car. At first it was no strings attached, but then feelings got involved and everyone knows that shit gets complicated when that happens. That's why we are where we are.

I pull out and flip him onto his back, proceeding to come all over his stomach. "Shit," I hiss out before reaching forward and sloppily jerking Craig off. He stares up at me the whole time, with heavy lidded eyes and flushed cheeks. It's always been a lot different with Craig than with anyone else I've been with. I think this is why. It's more personal. He makes it that way.

"I'm gonna come," he says, his breath quickening along with my pace. I watch his lips part as he lets out a long, soft moan.

It's fucking perfect. _He's_ fucking perfect.I don't know why I continue to treat him like he's expendable.

* * *

We lay side by side for a few minutes and Craig is the first one to move. "That was the last time," he says as he sits up, taking a tissue from my nightstand and wiping the rapidly cooling spooge off his body. "I mean it."

"Craig, I…" Fuck. I don't know what to say. I don't know how to fix this.

"You what?"He begins picking his clothes up off the floor and putting them back on. His movements are slow and cautious enough to make me see that he's already sore. He'll hurt worse by the morning and Clyde will ask why he's walking weird. Craig will ignore him, but he won't flip him off. Craig never flips Clyde off. I don't know why. Craig flips me off all the damn time… but maybe that's because Clyde is his best friend and I'm his asshole boyfriend. Well… ex-boyfriend I guess. Fuck.

I don't say anything. I can't even open my mouth.

"You didn't make me do anything I didn't want to do," he admits quietly. "It was nice while it lasted – even the fucked up parts."

"Then why?"

"I just can't see me dating a guy like you," he says pointedly. "In the long run, it won't end well…"

A whore, he means. I know it. I'm reminded of it more than enough. I've been sleeping around since I was thirteen. I'm never safe. I even had syphilis once. Of course I know how disgusting I am. It's no secret, I just never used to think about it. Sex was just something unimportant – an after school or between class activity. When I first made my move on Craig, he asked me if I was clean. I said yes, but he still told me to get an STI test. I had asked why and he said, "Because you get around." Of course, I get monthly tests. Ever since my unfortunate battle with syphilis, I've decided it's best to make sure.

And maybe it says something about him, too… the fact that at one time, he did want to be with a guy like me. Anyway, that's when it clicked. Just like that. And I get that it might be ugly and sad, but the worst part is that I don't even feel upset after shit like that happens because it's become something normal. I'm so used to hearing it.

Before any of that, I tried to make up with Craig for getting him drunk at Red's birthday. What a fiasco that was. I told him I knew some girls who would be into hooking up, but he wasn't into it. "Not interested," he said dismissively.

"Why not?" I was outraged because these girls were really beautiful.

He just said, "Not into girls." Then it made sense.

"What?" I said dumbly.

"I'm gay," he reiterated.

"Whaaat?" I asked again, surprised. "But you and Red…?"

"I slept with her," he deadpanned, "I didn't say I enjoyed it. I didn't have much of a conscious say in it thanks to you."

I _did_ feel bad about it. Hell, I still feel bad about it and Craig often brings it up when he's feeling sour. "Yeah… I'm sorry about that."

"No, you're not," he stated.

"I am!" I insisted. It isn't like I knew he'd get drunk and lose his virginity, but it was my fault nonetheless. I did feel bad about it. Sometimes I still do. I like Craig a lot. Hell, maybe I even love him. Deep down, he probably knows it… but it's a hard thing to admit nonetheless. It's easier to be a total asshole to someone than to admit the opposite.

Anyway, after the argument we made out and I stuck my hand down his pants. It isn't the greatest tale of romance, but it still feels important.

Once Craig is dressed, he lingers for a moment.

"I can…" I pause, sitting up in the bed and looking up at him. "Look, I'll change…"

"No, you won't," he snorts. "People can't change, so it isn't fair of me to ask you to try."

"Craig…" I murmur his name, wanting to tell him I'll be better but the words won't come out. Probably because I find it hard to lie to those I love.

He leans in and gives me a peck on the lips before saying, "Don't worry. No one suspected a thing... See you around."

I suppose it's for the best… He deserves someone who won't go and cheat on him. He deserves someone who will be honest and faithful and all that shit. I let out a groan and lean back onto my pillow. I don't know how much time goes by – could be a few minutes, could be an hour – but Eric walks into the room with a big grin."We won," I say knowingly.

"We won," he smirks in confirmation, before grimacing at my less than modest state. "Why are you naked?"

"I just had sex," I tell him.

"Fuckin' slut," he mutters.

"Oh, speaking of sex," I say, standing up and getting my backpack. "Shit, I still have Kyle's dildo." I take the phallic shaped object out of my bag with a little snicker.

"Christ," Eric snorts. "Think he'll actually use it?"

"Who knows?" I ask, pulling my sweatpants back on.

"I can't see it happening," he admits.

"Do you want to?" I laugh.

"Very funny," he says dryly. "Shithead."

I have a very strong feeling that Eric would thoroughly enjoy seeing Kyle play with himself, but nonetheless, I just wink. "So, what are you going to do with your cut of the money?" I ask.

He simply shrugs.

* * *

Later in the evening, when I finally bring myself to leave the form, I meet the others in the campus cafeteria. "Hey, all," I wave upon arrival.

They all greet me, apart from Craig, who doesn't look up from the large book he's reading.

"Where've you been?" Kyle asks. "We all bought our textbooks today."

I just shrug and force a smile. "Let me guess," I start, "you spent your hunt money on your textbooks?"

He nods, chuckling softly. "I wasn't the only one."

"Stan?" I glance.

"I did, too," he admits.

"Same," Clyde adds.

"Craig?" I ask.

Craig simply nods.

"I'll probably do the same. What about you, Eric?"

"Hell no. I'm saving it 'til I find something worth it."

I should've known.

As the rest of us mindlessly chat about textbooks and their outrageous prices, Craig quietly closes his book before shoving it in his bag. He slings it over his shoulder and stands up, making his getaway.

"Where's he going?" Clyde asks, his eyes following his best friend.

"I dunno," I shrug. "I'll go check," I offer before running after him.

"Craig, wait a sec!" I raise my voice.

He slows his pace, before turning around expectantly.

"Come on, Craig…" I say in a whiny and desperate voice, trying to convince him to come back to me.

"No," he shakes his head, distancing himself further.

"Is this how it's gonna be from now on?" I ask. "It's fucking pathetic. We can't just run away from each other every time we're in the same damn room."

"Don't be so vain," he crosses his arms. "Maybe I have something to do."

"But you don't…" I say knowingly.

"How do you know that?" he questions.

I just sigh. "Because I know you. I know what you're like."

He presses his lips together in a line. I feel like he wants to challenge me, but he won't.

"What can I do to prove I want you?" I ask.

"Okay," he starts. "Tell me _why_ you want me."

I pause, caught off guard. I'm not good at this kind of shit.

"What do you like about me?" he urges.

And I don't know what the hell to say. He has a nice face. He has a nice stomach, a nice ass, a nice dick. He fucks well. I don't mind that he has braces because he still gives killer head. Is that all? I sound so damn shallow but at the same time I feel like I need him.

"See?" he murmurs. "You can't come up with anything meaningful."

"I will," I promise him. He just scoffs at me. "I'm serious," I insist.

He shakes his head again. "Let's wait one month."

"Why?"

"It might give me the opportunity to miss you," he says in a mumble.

"Miss me?" I question, unsure what he means by that.

"I don't know," he sighs, rubbing his tired eyes.

I frown, probably looking fairly pouty. "I don't want to wait that long," I tell him. "A month will seem like forever."

"Then kiss me," he starts. "Kiss me right here in front of all these students – in front of our friends. Let them know and stop being so fucking ashamed."

I turn around and spot Eric, Kyle, Stan and Clyde sitting at a nearby table chatting away. I wonder if they'd see… I wonder how they would react and what they would say…

"You were never accepted by your parents," Craig continues, "so you seek acceptance from others, but listen, it doesn't fucking work that way. Not everyone is going to like you, so stop caring so damn much what people think of you. You don't need to be what everyone thinks you are."

"Maybe that's all I really am, Craig," I say.

He shakes his head. "I know you and I know you're more than what everyone seems to think... the problem is, _you_ don't see it and until you do, this isn't going to work. It can't."

"Shut up," I mumble, not in the mood for those kinds of truths.

"Excuse _me_?"

"I told you to shut up," I repeat.

"I heard what you said," he snaps, "I just don't know why you said it."

"Give me a fucking minute to think!" I hiss.

"If it's something you need to think about, then fuck it," he says, turning away.

"Craig –" I try in a softer tone.

"No," he deadpans, probably not wanting to hear what else I have to say. "One month, McCormick. In the meantime, keep your dick in your fucking pants." Tsk. And he's back to calling me by my last name. He does that when he's pissed off at me.

I watch him walk off, feeling like I just lost something important. I let out a soft sigh and force on a smile before walking back towards the others.

"Where'd Craig go?" Clyde asks.

"He was tired. He said he wanted to take a nap." It's a lie, but knowing Craig, it's believable. He's always tired.

"Oh," Clyde says, seeming satisfied with my answer.

Everyone is so blissfully ignorant.


	4. KB: Secrets revealed in writing class

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Thanks for nice reviews! **

**Kyle's POV**

* * *

I spent two days recovering from a particularly evil hangover. I want to blame Cartman, though I know it's my own fault for letting him get to me. I always let him get to me. I need to learn to stop, but it's hard. I just get so frustrated and he loves it… but I almost don't mind being near him when he's not acting like such an asshole. Those moments are few and far between, but I've come to appreciate the easy and comfortable silence that comes with it.

Today was the first day of classes. Mine all went really well! I know I probably sound like a total loser when I start talking like this, but I'm pretty excited to see what kind of work we'll be doing. I can't deny that I love school.

Kenny and I just finished our writing course and are now on our way to meet Cartman in the library. Once we spot him, I put my textbooks on the table he's seated at. "How are your classes?" I ask him.

"Gay," he says. Short and sweet…

"I see…" I murmur at his vague response.

"What 'bout you guys?" he asks.

"Really well," I say. "We already got homework."

"And that's a good thing?" Cartman raises an eyebrow, grimacing.

"We have to brainstorm about something _personal_ and _informal_," Kenny snorts. "The class is relatively small, only around twenty people. The prof wants us all to get to know each other on a more intimate level… Not really fond of that shit, but whatever."

"Sounds gay," Cartman says offhandedly as he pulls out his phone and begins to play with it.

"What are you going to write about?" I ask him.

"Not sure yet," Kenny shrugs. "You?"

"I don't know either," I wrinkle my nose. "I hate sharing my work…"

"It's not so bad," he reasons.

"You're an extrovert," I laugh. "I'm an introvert. It's hard for me."

"I guess so," he smiles, "but it'll be fine."

* * *

Later on in the day, I find myself back in my dorm trying hard to think about what I want to write about. It has to be personal… God, this is torturous. As much as I like homework, I'm not fond of this kind. I'm not an overly open person, and sharing something personal with a group of strangers is nerve-wracking.

"What's up?" Stan asks me from across the room. I let out a sigh, telling him all about the assignment. "Ah… have any ideas?" he asks after I'm done explaining.

"Nope. Not one," I admit.

"It has to be meaningful?"

I nod. That is probably what makes this project so intimidating.

"I don't know," he shrugs, "Maybe try writing about something that changed you as a person or something."

"Hm," I muse.

To be honest, I have an idea… I'm just not sure if it's something I'll be able to share with a group of strangers, but either way… I start typing in the word document on my laptop, and suddenly they're coming to me so damn easily.

"You got an idea?" Stan asks.

"Yeah," I mumble, glancing at him.

"What did you choose?"

"I'll tell you later."

"Why not now?"

"Because," I say simply. Because I'm fuckin' scared.

"Because…?" he trails off, urging me to tell him more.

"I don't know if I can say it out loud," I admit.

He smiles sympathetically. "Dude, you'll have to read it to a class full of people."

"Fine," I sigh, turning my head to look at me. "Once I'm done, I'll read it to you. You can be the first."

He grins, "Okay."

* * *

A mere twenty minutes later, I'm finished pouring my thoughts onto the now full word document. It's hardly a brilliant piece of writing, but it's pretty damn personal. "I'm done," I tell Stan.

He gives me an encouraging smile. "What did you decide to write about?" he asks.

"A dream I had recently that's been wracking my brain," I tell him, "but it was more than that…"

"Yeah?"

I nod, taking a deep breath. "My face was made of glass," I start, beginning to read off the page, "and pieces kept cracking off. When they fell, they shattered and it was like once that happened, I'd never be able to get them back. I would bend over and try to pick the pieces up, but they would turn into dirt in my hands. It kept happening until there was nothing left of me. I rarely remember my dreams, and even when I do they are usually nothing overly exciting. This one was different. It was vivid and clear and I remember it like it was real. I am one of those people who like to give certain things meaning. I have been thinking a lot about that dream, probably to the point where I'm now overthinking it… but I feel like I have come up with a conclusion as to what the dream could mean."

"When I was ten, I began to question my religion. My religion has always been a large part of my life. For many of the kids I grew up with, it was my defining characteristic. To those who didn't know my name, I was the Jew. It bothered me. As a child, I had a lot of shame surrounding my religion. I have a friend and he doesn't call me by my name. He calls me Jew. That is now my name. That is my one defining characteristic and sometimes I wonder what he sees when he looks at me. Does he see my slightly larger than average nose? Does he think I'm greedy? Does he only see these stereotypes? Before I knew it, I was halfway to abandoning my faith… but I didn't. I was beginning to understand there are so many different dimensions of _the self_. That was only one of them. So, I'm Jewish. I'm eighteen years old. I'm a brother, a son and a friend. And… I've discovered I'm also gay," I shakily reveal. "For a long time, I tried to deny it. I felt like it would be easier that way, but it wasn't. I've learned that when you try to deny who you are… even just one part of yourself… then everything else falls apart with it. I think that's what my dream was about. I wasn't accepting myself, so piece after piece began to fall away and my sense of self deteriorated until I was nothing but a blank slate."

Once I'm finished, I take a breath before looking up at Stan. His face is emotionless.

"Stan?" I say his name, worried he's going to cringe.

He doesn't cringe. Instead, he smiles, and it's a gentle gesture. "When did you realize you didn't like girls?" he asks.

I force a laugh. "We kissed," I mention. "And that's when I kind of knew for sure."

Stan nods. He probably knew it, too.

We were both drunk and it was at a stupid New Year's get together our stupid parents dragged us to a few years back. Stan had just broken up with Wendy yet again. At midnight, all the parents were making out with each other, which was a pretty awkward scene, but nonetheless… It was like everyone had someone to kiss. Everyone except Stan and I. So we cut our losses and, as if we were both thinking the same damn thing, we hid in an empty room, leaned forward and kissed each other. Just like that. It was nice. Stan was the first boy I've kissed and even now, he's the _only_ boy I've kissed.

"Does it make you uncomfortable?" I ask.

"No way," he chuckles. "You're my best friend. What are a couple make out sessions between best pals?"

"Right," I laugh, thoroughly relieved.

He jumps off his bed and hops onto mine, throwing his arm around me and pulling me into his chest. "So, you're coming out?" he asks.

"I guess so," I mumble, my voice muffled by the fabric of his sweater.

"D'you think Cartman will give you hell for it?"

"He'll probably make the sign of the cross and run away so he won't catch _the gay_."

Stan chuckles because he knows it's probably true.

"Honestly, though…" I shrug, "Cartman thinks what he wants. To him, I'm already the biggest faggot there is. I doubt admitting I'm actually gay is going to change that. It can't get any worse."

He ruffles my hair before letting go. "Well," he says, "I guess you have a point there."

"Kenny takes the writing class with me," I change the subject. "What do you think he'll write about?"

"I'm not sure," Stan shrugs. "Maybe his curse?"

"Do you think he'd really do that?" I ask. "I mean, they'd haul him off to the nuthouse."

"Probably," Stan snorts. "I don't know."

"None of us really know a lot about Kenny…" I say. "I mean… his feelings. He always laughs at everything, even things that aren't funny. I wonder what's really going through his head."

"Maybe you'll get to find out."

"Maybe."

* * *

Sure enough, when Thursday comes around, Kenny strolls into class holding a crinkled piece of paper with messy scrawl on it. I'm curious to find out what he chose to write about.

In the start of class, the professor makes us all sit around in a circle. It feels like grade school or something. I sit next to Kenny, who looks uncharacteristically nervous. I find that strange, but I don't call him out. "What did you write about?" I ask him.

"You'll see," he says, offering me a timid smile.

It feels more like a group therapy session than a writing class – a dead pet, grade school bullying, prom night romance, a trip to Canada, and etc. Everyone takes turns reading off their scraps of paper until it's finally my turn. I feel like I could faint, but I don't. I stare down at the paper being held in my shaky hands, and in an even shakier voice, I begin to speak.

"My face was made of glass…" I start, reading the same words I read to Stan a little while back. I take a pause. I'm getting to the hard part and I'm beginning to wish I wrote about finding out Ike was adopted or something simpler. But I need to do this. It's now or never. "So, I'm Jewish. I'm nineteen years old. I'm a brother, a son and a friend. And… I've discovered I'm gay."

I can't bring myself to look at Kenny, but I feel like, if I did, he'd probably be smirking. He probably knew it before I did. "I always knew it," he whispers, and I just let out a little chuckle as my suspicions are confirmed.

"For a long time, I tried to deny it. I felt like it would be easier that way, but it wasn't. I've learned that when you try to deny who you are… even just one part of yourself… then everything else falls apart with it. I think that's what my dream was about. I wasn't accepting myself, so piece after piece began to fall away and my sense of self deteriorated until I was nothing but a blank slate."

Kenny reaches over and pats my thigh as the class applauses yet another stupid informal oral presentation. "Kenny," the professor smiles comfortingly. "It's your turn now."

"Right, but I want to get something straight first," he starts.

She nods. "Shoot."

"Look, I really suck at writing about myself," he laughs softly, shaking his head. "It's something I never do." When I asked Kenny why he was majoring in creative writing, he just told me he liked to make shit up. He's pretty good at it, which is ironic because he's so bad at lying. He just likes telling stories.

From my seat, I give him an encouraging smile. The professor does the same before saying, "That's quite all right, Kenny. I'm sure you're not alone there. What will you be telling us about today?"

"My parents," he answers. "My childhood, too, I guess." I'm honestly surprised. They are two things Kenny doesn't really like to talk about. The first one is understandable, and the second… Well, he just says there was too much dying. I guess that's understandable, too. I probably wouldn't want to recall a part of my life that was full of death either.

The professor nods once more. "Take it away."

"When I was young, I was bad," he starts reading. "I know a lot of kids were bad, but I was really rotten. I sniffed paint, set things on fire, and did the most disgusting things for the sake of a couple bucks. No shame, even now. I once gave some old dude a hummer for ten bucks. Ten bucks! I feel like I shouldn't have gone that low, but for a kid, ten bucks is a lot. Especially to a _poor_ kid. That was me: the poor kid. And I'm sure everyone knows enough pop psychology shit to see where my bad behaviour came from. It was my parents, right? Well, yeah. It probably was."

He laughs good naturedly, as if he's talking of fond memories, though that's clearly not the case. I can't help but feel sympathy.

"I know a lot of kids go through phases where they say they hate their parents," he says. "But when it comes down to it… not many of them mean it. They're just caught up in a fit of anger and they let their emotions get the best of them. I've only told my parents I hated them once, but for a while, I felt like I really meant it. Why? Well, I grew up in a small town. Some of you may have heard of it – South Park. It's close, and it gets a lot of media attention because it's hell on Earth… When I was a really young, I thought all families were like mine, so I wasn't really fazed by the things my parents did. I grew up in poverty and our house had no welcome mat. We lived in the poorest part of town. South Park is small, so it isn't too far from the richer part of town, but that made it worse. When I grew more conscious of my surroundings, I felt like I was being taunted with things I'd never have. As I grew up, I realized that my family was fucked up. I mean, sure, most families are… but not in the way mine is. My parents were always so high; half the time they didn't remember they had kids. I have an older brother and a little sister. As we all aged, family fun time became getting high together in the living room while watching awful reality television shows. I know it sounds stupid, but it meant something to me. Again, why? Because never in my life had my parents really made an effort to get to know us. When we were all fucked out of our minds, it was like we could finally talk to one another… Not that it made things any better once we all sobered up." He pauses, clearing his throat. "When I was fifteen, our house burned down…" he continues, briefly glancing at me. "Kyle probably remembers."

I simply nod my head. It made the news. A local meth lab exploded. That meth lab happened to be the one in the backyard of the McCormick residence.

"It was kind of a lie," Kenny laughs bitterly. "Our house didn't just burn down. I set it on fire."

I feel my jaw drop. I always knew Kenny liked playing with fire, but I didn't think he'd go and do a thing like that.

He's smiling slightly, probably taking in my reaction. He stares down at the page in his hand once again. "I know what some of you are probably thinking… Why would I go and burn my house down, right?" he shrugs. "I fucking hated that place. I got so angry one night. My parents were fighting when I got home from school and it continued for what felt like hours. I got sick of it. My sister was crying, my brother was passed out in his room covered in his own vomit and I just snapped. I went downstairs and I told them exactly what I thought of them. I told them I hated them. I told them I hated them for being shitty parents and raising me the way they did. I told them I hated myself and that it was their fault… The last thing I wanted was to end up like them: jobless drunks who can't support the kids they have. My dad hit me for mouthing off, but I was so angry it barely registered. After that, I went to the garage. I don't even remember what I was thinking at the time. It was like my mind just blanked and my body was moving on its own. I poured gasoline all through the house before setting it ablaze. My parents ran, shrieking for my sister and brother to wake up and get the fuck out. The meth lab in our backyard caused an explosion soon after the fire began spreading, but they all got out okay. My parents knew it was me, but they made up some bogus lie so they wouldn't get in trouble for neglecting their kids and raising such an asshole. I think the cops knew it was me, but they didn't press the issue… Insurance covered us and we got a trailer. It was cramped. It was even smaller than that fuckin' crack shack of a house I burned down. This meant I wasn't just white trash, I was trailer trash, too. The guys at school ripped on me for it. It was brutal, but I didn't really let it get to me. That trailer was so damn cramped; it was like we were being forced to spend time with one another. I think, somehow, that made me kind of happy… but still, nothing changed. I just hoped it would. My parents still haven't apologized for eighteen years of torture, and I never apologize for torching the house. Everything was forgotten and things went back to the way they were supposed to be…"

I wish he spoke about these things. I'd like to have known he was having a hard time in the past instead of having to learn it for the first time with a group of strangers who don't know him like I do… Maybe he didn't feel like he _could_ tell us.

He takes another pause. "Sometimes I wonder if it's really possible to hate your parents," he muses. "I said it, and I felt like I meant it, but looking back on it… I probably didn't. My dad beat me and my mom once locked me in a deep freeze, but I still don't hate them. Should I? Maybe. I feel like it would be justified… but I don't. If I did hate them, I probably wouldn't have gotten so angry at them. I wouldn't have spent all that effort yelling at them and burning the house down. I just wouldn't have cared at all. Instead, I was doing the opposite. I was trying to get their attention. I was trying to get a response from them… I suppose I'd be lying if I said I regretted it. I don't regret burning my house down. The other day, a friend of mine told me that the reason I'm such a slut is because I'm seeking the acceptance and comfort I've been denied my whole life. It sounds so grossly desperate, I wanted to deny it, but after giving it some thought I realized it made sense. More than anything in the world, I wanted my parents to say those three fucking words to me. I just wanted them to tell me that they loved me. 'I love you.' That's all I fucking wanted… So, by caring, what exactly did that say? I was spiteful. I wanted them to care, too. I wanted them to be the kind of parents all my friends all had… but they weren't. They aren't. They never will be, and I've finally come to accept that. My parents won't ever tell me that they love me, but I guess it's okay."

The professor looks sympathetic. She probably doesn't quite know how to respond to such a bitter ending. Everyone else wrote happy endings, or at least optimistic endings. A split second later, she glances up at the clock and thanks everyone for presenting before announcing that class is finished for the day. "Kenneth, can I speak to you for a moment?" she asks as everyone gathers their things.

"Er, yeah…" he says awkwardly.

"Want me to wait?" I ask.

He nods and I exit the classroom along with the rest of the students.

"Am I in trouble?" I hear him ask before the professor closes the door. I wonder what she is saying to Kenny. Maybe she wants him to see the residential psychologist. He'd never go for that. He'd flip her the bird and walk away laughing.

A lot of what he said surprised me. I didn't think he'd choose something so personal, but maybe he just had to get it out somehow and this was the perfect opportunity.

In a matter of minutes, he leaves the classroom.

"What was that about?" I ask.

"The prof actually liked my presentation," he snorts. "I didn't think I'd do all that well, but now I feel better about it. She said she liked that I chose something so personal. She said that she felt the _passion_..."

"Well, that's good," I chuckle.

He just smiles. "But she also recommended I see the resident counsellor. I said no." Naturally.

"Kenny?" I say his name.

"Hm?" He gives me a questioning look.

"When you set your house on fire, did you die in there?" I ask carefully, knowing the answer before he even speaks.

He lets out a soft sigh. "Yeah, I did… I accidentally killed myself."

"What was it like?" I practically croak out the question.

"It was the worst," he says vaguely. He doesn't really like to talk about dying and none of us press for the details. Partially out of kindness, but we also have less than good intentions. None of us want to make him talk about the awful things… but at the same time, none of us want to know what happens to him because it's otherworldly and frightening and gruesome.

"I'm sorry," I say sincerely.

"I was trapped in there. It was so hot I swear I felt my skin melt off," he makes a pained expression, wrapping his arms around himself. "I still remember it… When I woke up, I went back to our burnt old house and sifted through the rubble for my remains. They were charred. I wasn't even recognizable. It was disgusting. It was the most disgusting thing I've ever seen. I couldn't even handle it. I wanted to take my corpse and hide it. I wanted to hide it because it was proof... the physical proof of my failure. It was a humiliating and degrading and overall fucking gruesome mistake… but I couldn't even be around it for more than a few seconds. I'm not sure whether it was the fact that I was seeing charred human remains or if it was the fact that they were _my_ remains. Either way, I couldn't handle it. I got so sick. I just started bawling."

"I'm sorry," I say again, whispering the words.

He shakes his head, slapping my shoulder a few times. "It's cool. It was forever ago."

I can't begin to imagine what dying is like – especially dying so violently and so often. It might sound bad, but thinking about Kenny's life makes me feel a bit better about mine. It's in the way he's forced to live and not just the way he chooses to. Though, I guess it's a pretty cruel comparison.


	5. EC: A mistake

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Thanks for encouraging reviews :)**

**Eric's POV**

* * *

"Fag alert!" I shout when I spot Kyle. He doesn't even bat an eye. By now, the secret is out and we all know the truth about Kyle's once ambiguous sexuality. I always knew it. I always knew he was a fuckin' fag. It was written all over every damn thing he did. A prime example –

When we were sixteen, we were all in Kyle's car. He was driving us back from a party. He'd often sacrifice drinking nights so he could keep everyone safe and play the part of the designated driver. I think it's for the best since he's a messy drunk. One night he hit a rabbit and literally cried for an hour. He was sobbing on the whole ride back and even after we went inside. It was pathetic. I laughed so fucking hard. "Mmmm yeeesss," I moaned dramatically at the sight of Kyle's tears, eliciting anger from Kenny and Stan. Everyone is so protective of Kyle. I don't get why. He acts sweet, but when you get on his bad side he can make a person hate themselves. He's just as shitty as the rest of us. I'm the only one who sees it.

I think I was the only one who noticed the way his eyes lingered on Kenny every time he took his fucking clothes off like some cheap hooker. Not to say he is into Kenny, he was just admiring his body – they wouldn't suit each other. Kyle is too modest for a slut like Kenny. Kyle needs someone who understands him.

We're all piling into the common room. It's a Friday night and the entire dorm is celebrating making it through the first week of school. It's a fuckin' party. I'm sure it'll get old fast, though. I was never one for parties.

"What's the most interesting thing that's happened to you all thus far?" Kyle asks, all smiley thanks to the liquor.

"Interesting?" Stan asks.

"Good or bad," he shrugs.

"I have a good one," Kenny snorts. "Y'know how I'm roomed in here with Eric? Apparently this shithead talks in his sleep. Man, I had a hot girl in my bed the night after the scavenger hunt and he was asleep so we were being quiet, right? I had my fuckin' dick in her and all the sudden I hear someone exclaim _FUCK OFF_ and she doesn't believe me when I tell her he's just talking in his sleep, right? So she pushes me off of her and leaves angrily and I'm just sitting there with a boner. I jerked off and went to bed, trying to keep myself from suffocating Eric with a pillow."

"Ay!" I protest and Craig arrives just in time to fear the best parts of Kenny's awkward story. He sits down with us, grimacing at the blond whore. Funny, Kenny looks bothered by the look he's receiving from Craig.

"Jesus Christ, Kenny," Kyle shakes his head.

"Have you tried explaining it to her again?" Stan asks.

"Nah," Kenny shrugs. "Too late now… it's a lost cause."

"Oh, well," Kyle says. "What about you, Stan?"

"I didn't fail the first quiz," he laughs. Big accomplishment because he's an idiot.

"Ooh, exciting," Kyle laughs along with him.

"I didn't fail my first quiz either," Clyde adds with a grin.

"Well, congratulations," Kyle smiles, taking a long sip of his drink. "What about you, Craig? Anything interesting happen?"

"I let a guy rub his dick on my face," he tersely reveals.

"… Literally?" Kyle raises an eyebrow.

"Oh, I see Kyle's interest is peeked at the mere mention of dicks," I cut in and the Jew flips me off.

"Literally and figuratively," Craig murmurs, standing up. "I'm going to sleep. I'm not in the mood to socialize." He leaves the room and Kenny follows a moment later… He's probably going to try and find a girl to hump.

"Wow," I mumble a once they're gone. "Is everyone here a goddamn fag?"

"Cartman," Kyle growls, visibly irritated and offended. He takes another long sip of his drink. "Stop trying to make me feel bad."

"I'm not," I laugh. "I'm literally just asking a question – Christ, don't take everything so personally."

His eyes narrow.

"Shut up, Cartman," Stan cuts in warily. "And Kyle, just ignore him. He's a dick."

"And you're an oversensitive pussy and Kahl is a prissy virgin," I add. "What the fuck is new?"

An angry flush spreads across Kyle's face. "It's not a bad thing!" he insists angrily.

"Virgin," I repeat in a sing-song voice.

"Fine!" he declares in a slur. "Tonight, I'm going to lose my virginity."

"Kyle…" Stan whines. "Come on, just sit the fuck back down before you do something retarded."

"No!" he stumbles slightly. "I'm gonna sleep with the first person to show an interest and then Cartman will have to come up with a new insult!"

"How about… desperate hooker?" I smirk. "We already have Kenny, we don't need another shameless, sex-crazed nymphomaniac." I'm seriously. Everyone has slept with Kenny McCormick. I'm not even sure whether I should be disgusted or impressed at his kill count.

"Kyle, you're drunk," Stan states dryly. "Sit down."

"Nope," he shakes his head and disappears into a nearby crowd.

"I swear to God," Stan hisses at me, "If he does anything stupid, I'll wring your fat neck."

"Why me?" I raise an eyebrow.

"Because you started this," he jabs me in the chest with his pointer finger.

"Ay, you better calm down," I warn. "I didn't do _shit_. It's not my fault he's a dumb drunk."

He just shakes his head at me before standing up and walking off with Clyde, leaving me alone on the sofa. I stand up and begin to wander around the dormitory for a familiar face. A short while later, I spot Kenny playing beer pong with some kids I've never seen. "What?" I ask. "You're not searching for a hole to fuck?"

"Not tonight," he says, taking the ping pong ball and squinting as he aims. "SCORE!" he shouts happily after landing one in the other team's cup.

"Weird," I murmur. "I guess Kahl's taken on your role tonight, then."

"What do you mean?" he asks.

"Our little ginger Jew says he's going to lose his v-card tonight."

"Why?" Kenny snorts.

"Because he's drunk and stupid," I explain simply.

"You probably egged him on, huh?" he asks, probably already knowing the answer.

"Maybe," I smirk. There's no point in lying to him.

"Go find him and give him a sobering slap," Kenny suggests.

"Why does it even matter?" I ask, crossing my arms.

"Because," he explains, "when you're as drunk as he is, you're hardly coherent enough to make smart decisions."

I roll my eyes. "Fine," I mumble, knowing that if Kyle does end up doing something stupid, I'll get the blame.

* * *

I roam around for a good twenty minutes before spotting Kyle. He's talking to some beefy, blond guy whose hands are all over him. When I see his face, I immediately recognize him as the guy who was talking Kyle up at the bar during the frosh week hunt. That hardly seems like a coincidence...

"Hey," I holler as I approach them.

"Hi, fat-ass," Kyle says distastefully. "What do you want?"

"Let's go," I grab his shoulder.

"No," he tries to shake me off. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"I could ask you the same damn thing," I murmur.

He pulls out of my grip and shoves me. In return, I deliver the slap. "What the fuck was that for?" he snaps.

"That's from Kenny," I say.

"Uh… is this some sort of lover's quarrel?" the random fag asks.

"No!" Kyle shouts. "God dammit," he mumbles, turning to his soon-to-be fuck buddy. "Let's go."

I watch them leave, not saying another word. For _some_ reason, seeing Kyle hang off of that random douche is pissing me off.

"Did you find Kyle?" Kenny asks later on.

"Yeah," I say. "He ignored me and went off with someone."

"Oh," Kenny frowns. "Well, he'll probably be mad at himself in the morning while Stan will just be mad at you."

"Tsk," I click my tongue. For some reason this is all pissing me off. "Whatever, fuck this. I'm going to bed."

"You sound like Craig," he chuckles almost fondly. Weird. I wrinkle my nose before turning away and walking down the hall.

My head is beginning to hurt. I don't want to think anymore.

* * *

When I wake up, it's almost nine. Kenny is asleep in his bed on the opposite side of the room. This time, he has all his clothes on and doesn't look like he was ditched at 3AM by a girl he fucked while I was asleep. I wonder why he isn't screwing around lately.

When I get out of bed, I toss a pillow at him. He stirs, giving me the middle finger. He sits up a moment later and says, "I wonder if Kyle survived the night."

"Hm," I snort. "I'm sure we'll be hearing about it very soon." Though, I'd honestly rather not.

"Can't wait," he mumbles sarcastically. "The whole thing is really fucking sad…"

"Why?" I ask.

"Because Kyle is moral and wholesome and nice," he says. "If he were sober, he'd want to wait."

"Oh well," I say unceremoniously. "It's his own damn fault for getting stupid-drunk." But I'll admit that I hope he wakes up with his virginity intact. If he does, then there will be less shit for me to have to deal with. Kenny and Stan will probably get pissy at me if Kyle's boy cherry got popped.

"What time is it?" the poor boy asks.

I grab my cellphone and check the time, reading, "It's almost seven."

"Come on," Kenny gets out of bed and drags me out the door. "Let's see how hung over Stan and Kyle are holding up after a night of heavy drinking."

We make our way down the hallway and to the room Stan and Kyle share. Kenny opens the door and we both saunter inside. Stan is lying in his bed, asleep and breathing peacefully. Kenny flops onto his unconscious body. "Wakey, wakey, Mister Marsh," he sings.

"Hey," Stan murmurs, voice laced in fatigue.

"Hung over?" Kenny asks, lying right on top of him.

"A bit," he admits, rubbing his eyes.

"Where's Kahl?" I ask, sitting down on the Jew's empty bed.

"I don't know," Stan mumbles. "He didn't come back last night… That's why I left the door open for him – in case he lost his key or something." Kyle doesn't drink often, but when he does he's always a big, ol' mess. He loses his shit, literally and figuratively.

Kenny finally rolls off of Stan and onto the empty side of the mattress. "He's probably fine."

"Yeah," Stan stifles a yawn with the back of his hand. "He'll show up soon…"

I roll my eyes at them both, lying back onto Kyle's pillow and shutting my eyes. Eventually their conversation dies down and I can only assume they've both fallen back asleep. I feel myself begin to do the same.

* * *

I'm not sure how long I was asleep, but I feel myself being shaken. I open my bleary eyes and take in Kyle's confused expression. "Cartman," he whispers, leaning over me. "Why are you in my bed?"

"Kenny dragged me over here," I murmur. "He wanted to see if you were okay."

"Well, I'm fine," he says, shrugging unceremoniously.

"What time is it?" I ask.

"Almost nine," he informs me. "It's still early."

"Oh," I yawn. He climbs over me and lies down next to me without another word. "So, did you get fucked?" I ask bluntly, closing my eyes.

"Mhm."

"Was it good?" I pry.

"Not really," he admits. "I don't quite remember."

"That sucks."

"It's okay," he says.

"Oh, really?" I snort.

"Yeah," he sighs. "I'm a bit sore but hardly remember it, so I'm just going to pretend it didn't happen."

"But it did happen…" I deadpan, rolling over so I can face him. I can tell it's bothering him, otherwise he'd be kicking me out of his bed right about now but he can't even bring himself to do that much.

"No, it didn't," he says, already playing the denial card. What a fuckin'… fuck.

"Real life isn't like that!" I harshly whisper, frustrated. "You can't just pretend. Shit doesn't disappear that easily, Kahl. It'd be fuckin' great if it did, but that's just a dream."

"It can be that easy if you want it to," Kyle says. What an immature way of thinking.

"Oh, really?" I scoff. "That's grossly desperate. You need to be realistic. Life sucks, the end."

"You can't be so negative all the time," he frowns. "You only see the bad in everything and everyone. It isn't healthy."

"Well, it's not healthy to lie to yourself, either," I chastise.

"Idiot!" he snaps, rolling over so I'm left to stare at his back.

"Choice comeback, Kahl," I retort.

"Don't talk to me anymore. I'm tired." His voice wavers and I probably made him cry, but whatever. I won't say anything about it... I'll give him a break just this once.


	6. KB: Sucking balls

**South Park © Matt & Trey. **

**Kyle's POV**

* * *

Mere minutes ago I woke up alone in an unfamiliar room. I was naked and the realization made me blush. A moment later, a man I vaguely remember entered the room. "Oh," he laughed. "You're awake."

"Who are you?" I asked.

"We met at a bar," he supplied. "Don't you remember?"

"N-no…" I stuttered stupidly. A total lie. Of course I remembered.

"I gave you my phone number and you never called me," he added. There was some anger in his tone and I wasn't sure whether or not he was joking around or not.

"Did we…?" I trailed off, unable to even say the word.

"Yeah," he said, laughing some more. "It was fun. I thought you were a pro."

"Oh," I whispered, feeling altogether shameful at the lewd compliment.

"Anyway, uh, your clothes are on the floor," he pointed to a pile on the ground. "You can grab them and leave."

So I did.

And that's how it went. I flushed my virginity down the drain all because I was immensely drunk and I let Cartman get to me. Why do I always let him get to me like that? Why can't I, as Stan constantly suggests, jut fucking ignore him? In my sober state of mind, I had this romanticized view on how it would happen. I thought it would have happened differently. I thought I'd look back on it and the memory would be fond. I didn't think it would end up being a drunken mistake I would come to regret mere hours later. I should've known. After getting dressed, I left without another word. When I arrived back in the room I share with Stan, I spotted Kenny asleep with an arm tossed over Stan's face. If I didn't feel so fucking bad, I'd probably smile at it.

Now I'm lying in my bed and Cartman is next to me and I'm tearing up and trying really fucking hard not to let it show. My ass hurts, my entire body feels heavy and I have quite the persistent headache. I don't know why I don't just kick him out of my bed… Maybe I just want to be near someone. Maybe I just want to be close to someone familiar after waking up in a stranger's bed.

I feel his hand on my shoulder and he's probably attempting to comfort me. For some reason, it breaks the thin wall in my head and I let out a quiet sob. His hand slides down my back, rubbing awkward circles. "You're a naïve idiot," he mutters, but the insult lacks malice. "Don't turn into Kenny. Being a whore suits him but it doesn't suit you. You're too damn modest in nature."

"I know I am," I say in a wet voice.

Sometimes I imagine I'm a _whore_, but the simple thought of it is enough to make me blush and shake my head. I force the thoughts out as soon as they enter. I'm no Kenny McCormick. I could never bring myself to do the things he does. Not that I'd even want to, but I can't help but imagine crazy situations sometimes. _Whore_… I don't like to throw that word around. Cartman does it enough for the group of us.

I'm so sick of my own thoughts and being trapped in my own damn head but unfortunately that isn't something I can escape. Cartman is right about that. "Sleep," he mumbles. "You didn't do anything wrong." The fact that he's being so damn nice is making me even more upset. I don't know why. He brings the bed sheets over me and continues to rub my back. He doesn't say anything else. I wipe my cheeks on my shirt sleeve and swallow the lump in my throat before shutting my eyes.

* * *

When I wake up, it's around 2PM and my headache is gone for the most part. I sit up slowly and scan the room only to find that it's empty. For that, I'm relieved.

I get out of bed slowly and make my way to the little cupboard of a bathroom, where I take off my clothes. I wash myself off thoroughly in the shower before putting a pair of loose sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt on.

I'm still alone when I exit the bathroom, so I decide to send Stan a text.

YOU: _Hey, where are you?_

He replies a couple minutes later –

STANLEY MARSH: _in the common room with ken and fatty. want me to come back?_

YOU: _No, that's okay._

STANLEY MARSH: _you should come join us._

Rather than reply, I make my way across the dormitory and to the common room. I immediately spot Stan, Kenny and Cartman.

"Hey," Kenny smiles warmly. "How're you?"

"Fine," I say, shrugging carelessly in an attempt to feign some sort of apathy. I sit down next to Stan, who throws a protective arm around me. He doesn't mention last night. None of them do, but I know it's on all of their minds so I let out a sigh. "Say what you want to, guys," I tell them. My attempt at apathy proves to be futile.

"What do you mean?" Kenny asks with facetious naivety.

"You want to ask me what happened after I ran off in a drunken craze, right?" I guess.

Stan and Kenny share a look before nodding in a sheepish manner.

"I got stupidly drunk and I let Cartman piss me off," I start calmly. "I don't remember what happened after that but I woke up naked in a stranger's bed. When he noticed I was finally conscious, he proceeded to tell me he thought I was a _pro_ and then kick me out of his room."

Stan shakes his head, frowning sympathetically. "Sorry, Kyle… that sounds really fucking shitty."

"What're you sorry for?" I force a laugh. "You didn't do anything."

"I guess," he murmurs.

"I've been in that position before," Kenny cuts in. "It makes you feel like you're an object and not a person…"

"Yeah," I say quietly.

"You're not an object, though," he adds.

"I know," I smile at his attempt to comfort me.

Cartman stays silent the entire time and I'm really fucking glad he doesn't open his mouth and tell Stan and Kenny he caught me crying while they were unconscious a couple meters away.

"Anyway, what time did you guys wake up?" I ask, changing the subject.

"Around twelve," Stan starts. "We –" He pauses after a few new faces enter the room.

"Hi, Kyle," one of them smiles smugly at me and I recognize him as the man whose room I woke up in this morning. "Last night was fun, huh?" he adds and his friends laugh.

I feel Stan pull me closer, as if he's trying to protect me from whatever is coming. "I'm sure it was," I say carelessly, "It's just a shame I can't remember any of it." There's no way in hell I'm going to let them know I feel like shit.

"Well, whenever your ass is ready for more, you know where my room is," he says before leaving the room with his friends.

"Seriously, Kahl?" Cartman grimaces, finally speaking up. "You let that egotistical douche touch you? You must have the worst taste."

"I was drunk," I say tersely, refusing to let my shame show. "My judgement was dramatically impaired."

"Are you going to take him up on his offer?" Stan asks carefully.

"Not unless I'm in the mood for self-hatred," I murmur.

"What a slimy guy," Kenny frowns. "Did you hear how fucking smug he was?"

"Of course he was smug," I sigh. "He's your _stereotypical_ college boy. He's probably compiling a list of one night stands and I'm his latest conquest."

"How awful," Kenny shakes his head.

"Why the hell are you phased, Kinny?" Cartman cackles. "You were never Mr. Morality. You're the sluttiest slut I know and I bet your list of one night stands is grossly massive."

"I'm hardly as bad as you make me out to be," he says. "Well… maybe I am, but I've never been on the giving end of a one night stand. I wouldn't do a thing like that… but sure, I've been in Kyle's position a few times."

"Let's not talk about this anymore," I plead, groaning loudly. "I want to forget about it."

"You shouldn't just forget it happened," Cartman snaps. "You should deal with it."

"How exactly am I supposed to do that?" I ask, scoffing. "I mean, it isn't exactly something that can be fixed."

"Come to terms with it," he shrugs. "And next time you're in the mood to screw around, don't sleep with the first asshole you see… Jesus Christ. You have a dildo for this exact reason. Relationships are overrated."

I feel myself flush. "I have one of those _things_ because you made me buy it!"

Cartman snickers. "You can't even say the word… Can you?"

"It doesn't matter," I say.

He sings, "Dildoooooo."

I just roll my eyes.

* * *

Soon, Stan and Kenny go to the cafeteria for supper. I tell them I'm not hungry, and Cartman stays behind with me, claiming he has reading to do for Monday. I know that's probably a lie. "Thanks for not telling them how I was acting this morning," I mumble.

"Sure," he grunts, leafing through a textbook.

"I've been thinking about something since then…" I trail off.

"What?" he asks, glancing up from the pages.

"Remember when you wanted me to suck your balls?" I bring up.

"Yeah," he laughs boisterously.

"Does it still piss you off that I never did?" I wonder.

"Yeah," he admits. "I won that bet fair and square."

"Want me to do it now, then?" I ask.

He looks somewhat taken aback. "What?" he asks suspiciously.

"I'm serious," I tell him. "I'll give you a blow job."

"Why?" his eyes narrow.

"You told me to deal with what happened, right?" I ask without waiting for a response. "Well, this is me dealing."

"How?"

"I want a new experience," I admit. "By doing this with you, it'll help me get over what happened with that asshole… It'll be like sexual therapy. I want to gain back some of the control I lost while I was smashed. Besides, I know you're up for it."

"That makes no fuckin' sense and no, I'm not," he says gruffly.

"Don't lie," I scoff. "I see the way you look at me. I'm not saying you're in love with me or anything… but I know you want to fuck me."

"Do I?" he asks with a slight smirk.

"Yes," I say surely. "I'm not an idiot."

"Kahl, do you know _why_ I want to fuck you?"

"I don't fucking know," I let out a short laugh. "Maybe you just want to have that kind of dominance over me… but at the same time, I know you care about me."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, you do," I say. "Don't pretend you don't because every fucking time I'm upset, you're there comforting me to the best of your abilities."

"You're fucked up if you want me," he whispers.

"I know I'm fucked up," I shrug. "Maybe we both are."

"I could fucking break you," he says. "Mentally and physically. I could be the one to hurt you. I could bend your neck with my thumbs and snap it like a twig."

"I know," I smile, "but you wouldn't."

He lets out a long sigh. "You're serious about this, aren't you?"

"Yeah," I nod. "I want to be able to do this with someone who cares about me… someone who won't walk away when it's over."

"And that person is me?" he asks. "Why not Kenny or Stan?"

"Stan has a girlfriend and Kenny…" I pause. "Kenny is preoccupied."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Can't you tell?" I start. "He's in love."

"Huh?"

"He's in love," I repeat.

"With who?" he asks, raising a brow as if the mere possibility of Kenny wanting to settle down with someone is astounding.

"I'm not sure," I admit.

"Then how do you know?" Cartman asks.

"I just do," I shrug. "Kenny has been different lately. Haven't you noticed?"

"Yeah… I guess…"

"So, what brought on the change? I've thought about it and I think he's trying to better himself. Why? Well, if it were for himself I'm sure the change would have been brought on earlier. The only explanation is that he's trying to better himself for someone else and that probably means he's in love."

"You really thought this through," he murmurs.

"Yeah, I did."

"You analyse every little thing…"

"It's a bad habit," I admit.

"So… that leaves me."

"Yeah," I whisper.

"Well, fuck," he shrugs. "Let's do it."

I stand up and he follows as we make our way to his dorm room. "Do you think Kenny will be returning soon?" I ask.

"No," he says. "He doesn't really spend a lot of time in the dorm… he's usually just bugging everyone else in their rooms."

"Oh," I snicker. That _does_ sound like Kenny. He likes to be surrounded by people. He _needs_ to be surrounded by people. It's like he can't stand to be alone. I suppose I can understand that.


	7. EC: That's my job

**South Park © Matt & Trey. **

**Thank you guys for reviewing, as always :)! I'm on spring break now so I have lots of time to write and get down some of my new ideas. **

**Eric's POV**

* * *

Kyle is bold. I never knew that. I always thought he was meek and somewhat muted.

"Sometimes I have dreams about doing you," I tell him once we arrive to my room. "I'll punch you and then I'll fuck you 'til you beg for mercy."

"Are you trying to scare me away?" he asks with a laugh. He doesn't believe me, but it's true. I do have dreams just like that – ever since I was young. They're always about fucking the Jew. I guess it's a twisted sort of fantasy of mine. The Jewish boy and the Nazi. Kenny once told me I was obsessed with Kyle. I gave him a double handed flip off; refusing to admit it was true. I guess I'll admit it now, but only to myself.

"I'm just being honest," I say.

"I see. Well, is that how you would want to fuck me?" he wonders. "Violently?"

"I don't know," I admit. "I never thought I'd be given the chance to get near you like this."

"Well, I will trust you not to punch me if the time does come," he says. "Tell me if I do something wrong…" he adds as I go to unzip my jeans and free my hard-on.

"You won't," I assure him. "You're sucking a dick, not baking a fucking cake." He says nothing, but he's smiling slightly as he gets on his knees and wraps his long, slim fingers around my boner. For a moment, he just stares at it. "It isn't gonna bite," I snort. "And you better not either…"

He just smiles slightly. "I've never seen another one up close."

"That you remember," I add.

"Well… yes, exactly," he says and I can't help but wish he was still a virgin. Though, I suppose it's my own fault for making him feel like it was a bad thing. I wish I could've been his first. That stupid asshole didn't deserve to get so close to him. "Besides, yours is a bit different than mine."

Right. Circumcision. "Well… you can look at it if you want," I shrug. "It's not really all that interesting." I stare down at Kyle and watch as he brings his face closer, lips parting as he takes me into his mouth. His movements are careful at first; as if he's scared he'll somehow mess up. "It's just me," I tell him. "You don't need to be so damn cautious."

He doesn't respond. I tangle my fingers in his curly hair as he bobs his head. He has hair made for pulling. This is going to make a fond, fond memory.

A mere five minutes later, I jizz down his throat with a solid grunt and he lets out a soft sound of surprise as his eyebrows draw together. He pulls away after a moment, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth as he stands up. I tuck myself back in my pants and he asks, "Was it, uh… Was it okay?"

"Yeah," I say. "More than okay."

He only nods and it's silent again. He lets out a sigh, sitting down on the edge of my bed.

"What're you thinking about?" I ask, crossing my arms.

"How stupid I am, mostly," he says, smiling slightly.

"You're not stupid," I snort. "What's your IQ? Like a hundred and thirty?"

"A hundred and fifty…" he corrects me, "but I feel like that doesn't really mean all that much."

"It's impressive," I shrug.

"It's just a number. It's only impressive if I put it to use."

"Do you think you will?" I ask.

"Who knows?" he laughs.

"What are you majoring in?"

"I'm doing a double major in Statistics and English," he tells me.

"Jesus Christ," I say, grimacing at the mere mention of math. "Smart fucker."

"Craig is studying biology. You and Clyde are studying business and Stan is studying public relations," he says. "That's all impressive, too."

"I suppose so," I relent.

"Either way… I don't doubt my intellect," he continues. "I suppose I just doubt my judgement at times…"

"College is a time for being stupid," I say lightly, though it probably doesn't make him feel any better about what happened the other night.

"I suppose so," he sighs. "Anyway, thanks."

"What for?" I ask. "Letting you suck my dick?"

He smiles coyly and I can't help but imagine what he'd look like naked, writhing beneath me as I fuck him hard. Sure, I've seen him naked before. I've seen him writhing around in his own bed in the past… and fuck, I swear there were times when I thought he might've known I was there watching him.

I've spent a large chunk of my time in South Park sitting outside his window watching him. Yeah, it was a pretty creepy thing for me to do. Sometimes I'd see him change, or cry, or masturbate… but usually I'd just sit there and watch him study.

I guess I'm somewhat of a voyeur. He's caught me there a few times, so it's no secret. He knows how I am and I guess he accepts it for what it is. "CARTMAN!" he'd shriek at me while stark nude. In the past, he'd get so mad he'd forget he wasn't wearing anything because he'd walk over to the window, open it, and start mouthing off at me. Eventually, he just got used to it. It wasn't such a big deal anymore. Sometimes he'd just wave or roll his eyes…

Ah, good times.

I sit down next to him, keeping a good foot of space between us. "Why are you so far away?" he asks.

"Doesn't it weird you out?" I wonder.

"Not particularly."

"I thought I grossed you out," I mention. "Is sucking me off some sort of punishment for yourself?"

"No," he shakes his head. "If I wanted punishment I'd go let that douchebag have his way with me again. Besides, you don't gross me out…"

"But I'm fat."

He shrugs his shoulders lightly. "You're not _that_ fat," he reasons. "You grew into your body. Now you're just kind of chubby… it suits you."

"Oh," I chuckle.

"One could say I'm too thin," he reasons.

"You're not," I mumble. "You're perfect… Your weight, I mean."

"Thanks," he smiles, leaning backwards onto my mattress. I stare down at him, watching as he shuts his eyes. He's still smiling slightly and looking quite content. He opens his eyes a couple of minutes later and his smile widens when he notices me staring.

"Kahl?" I say his name.

"Hm?"

"How are you feeling?" I ask.

"All right."

"Not weird?"

He shakes his head. "I've kissed Stan before," he admits, "and we're still close as can be. So, trust me, this isn't going to change the love-hate relationship we have."

"I think there's a tiny difference between a kiss and a blowjob," I snort.

"I guess so," he laughs. "Once, Kenny and Stan both slept over and we all had to squeeze together on my bed. The morning after, I woke up with Stan's boner pressed between my fuckin' ass cheeks."

"Are you fucking serious?" I cackle in disbelief.

He nods, chuckling. "We just laughed it off. It's something we both silently agreed not to talk about afterward."

"So… think there will be a repeat?" I ask, lying next to him.

"Possibly," he says, bemused.

"If you're so willing to do this, why wouldn't you suck my fuckin' balls?"

"Because," he laughs again, "if something like that was going to happen, it was going to be of my own accord… Besides, we were kids! And hey, I did a lot more than suck your balls just now so I'm sure I made up for it."

"You sure did," I mumble.

"Was it worth the wait?" he asks in a joking tone.

"Yeah," I snort. "Now I want more."

"Patience is a virtue," he chides.

"Oh," I sit up, suddenly remembering something.

"What is it?" Kyle asks.

I walk towards Kenny's things and sift through his things for a few minutes before finding what I'm looking for. "I think we all forgot about this," I say holding up Kyle's dildo.

"Oh, God," he groans, perching himself up on his elbows. "That thing…"

I wiggle it around and it flops back and forth. Kyle laughs childishly before getting up off the bed and snatching it from me. "Gonna use it?" I ask.

"Maybe," he considers, sauntering towards the door and hiding the phallic toy in up his shirt sleeve. "Anyway, I'm going to head back to my room and work on some assignments."

"A'right," I say.

"We should probably, uh, keep this whole thing between the two of us…" he says slowly. "For now, at least…"

"Well, no shit," I snort.

He nods firmly before leaving. Jesus Christ. I still can't believe the Jew sucked my dick. It's a fuckin' dream come true.

* * *

Later on in the day, Kenny returns to the room. "Kahl stopped by, so I gave him back the dildo," I say.

"Oh," Kenny laughs. "I kept forgetting about that damn thing."

"I know," I shake my head. "I think Kahl was probably relieved."

"Was he embarrassed to be getting it back?" he asks.

"A bit," I say, recalling his reaction.

"Why was he even here?"

"I needed computer help," I lie.

"It must've killed you to ask him for help," Kenny snickers.

I just grimace.

"We're all gonna watch a movie later on in the common room," he says, changing the subject. "Stan's telling Kyle, so I thought I'd let you know."

"What movie?" I ask.

"_Brokeback Mountain_."

"Ugh…" I groan.

"Kidding, kidding," he laughs. "It's some weird independent film that no one's ever heard of… _Gummo_ or something. Some stupid hipster kid picked it out."

"Sounds gay."

"It probably will be," he shrugs. "Stan looked it up on his phone. It sounds fucking weird, man."

"In that case… I think I'll stay in tonight."

* * *

Kenny leaves a half an hour later and after I tire of doing absolutely nothing, I make my way down to the common room to check out the movie. It's fucking weird and it reminds me of South Park in the summertime, when the snow melts.

I stand in the doorway and watch the movie until a dead cat is shown. This is when I choose to leave. It reminds me of Mister Kitty, which makes me feel kind of uncomfortable. Animal abuse is one of the few things I have a hard time laughing at, and that's saying a hell of a lot because I can find humour in the worst of things. I think that bothers Kyle. When we first learned about the Holocaust in school I kept cracking up. I did the same thing during his bar mitzvah. He ignored me for a week straight.

Eventually the door opens and Kenny walks into our room. He lets out a yawn, stifling it with the back of his hand. "How was the movie?" I ask, not genuinely interested. I saw enough of it for myself.

"I wish I got drunk beforehand," he is all he says before unceremoniously flopping onto his bed.

* * *

The next day I spot the stupid brute Kyle lost his virginity to. I sneer at him, but he only grins in return. He looks smug and annoying and all I want to do if fucking punch him. "What's your fuckin' problem?" I snap at him.

He is visibly amused. "What's mine?" He raises a brow. "I should be asking you what yours is. You're the one getting all up in my face when I haven't even done shit to you."

"You fucked with the Jew," I point out. "That's _my_ damn job."

He laughs as if he just heard a hilarious joke. "Is that so?"

"Stay away from him," I warn. "You don't want to know what I can do."

"Oh, I know exactly what you can do, Eric Cartman," he smirks. God, what a fucking dick.

"I'll _ruin_ you," I growl.

"I'd like to see you try," the asshole says challengingly before shoving his hands in his pockets and walking away. He swaggers back and forth as if he hasn't a care in the world and all I can do is wonder how he knows my name.


	8. KM: Bad trip

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**The most important chapter. Loljk. I just love being mean to Craig ~ **

**Kenny's POV**

* * *

If I don't own my title as a slut, then what do I have left? A month is going to be hard, but I'm trying. I haven't been getting drunk and I haven't been sleeping around. It's only been a week and Craig has been distancing himself with ease, so it seems. As much as I'd like to be all Zen about this, it's hard.

"What the hell's wrong with you lately?" Eric raises an eyebrow. "You're moodier than a chick on the rag."

I roll my eyes. "Fuckin' dick…"

I spend the majority of the day doing homework, while Eric procrastinates by loitering around the dorm. I feel like Kyle, getting a head start on my studies like some sort of keener. I'll be glad for it later on and I can rub it in Eric's face when he starts whining about assignments.

I leave the room to grab lunch and again to grab supper. I meet the guys briefly during both those times and Kyle says he's proud I'm taking school seriously. I'm pretty proud of myself, too. I guess now is the time to button down. I can't keep fucking up my relationships and my academics.

After returning from supper, I return to the dorm, not bothering to shut the door. I sit back down on my bed and immediately begin typing on my laptop. I don't mind writing assignments and essays, but I always get Kyle to read them over to make sure they aren't shit before I hand them in.

A short while later I hear footsteps. I look up and I see a familiar figure walk past my dorm's opened door. "Craig?" I say his name, but he keeps walking. There's something strange about the way he's walking, so I choose to follow him. "Craig!" I call again. He stops, but doesn't turn around. "What's up?" I ask, grabbing his shoulder and forcing him to look at me. He's expressionless and it feels like he isn't looking at me, but through me and seeing nothing at all.

"What?" he asks dumbly, squinting. There's something strange about the tone of his voice.

"I asked you what's up," I repeat slowly.

"What are you trying to tell me?" he asks. Before I can answer, he turns around and begins walking again, nearing the door.

"Craig, you're not wearing shoes!" I call, following after him once more. He doesn't stop moving. I follow him all the way outside, to the field behind the school. The wind is blowing right through his t-shirt and pajama pants. He looks up at the sky and starts asking me what it means and where he can _find it_. "I don't know what you're going on about," I tell him. "Are you high?"

"High," he murmurs the word, not quite answering the question but I have my answer nonetheless.

"What the fuck are you on?" I ask. "You're kind of scaring me…"

He falls onto his knees and grabs handfuls of grass, tearing it out of the ground until the mud starts to show. He continues to dig a small hole. I watch as he does this and once he's finished, I say. "Craig, let's go inside."

"Don't!" he shouts.

"What?" I frown, taken aback. Craig never raises his voice.

"Don't," he repeats, whispering it this time. He stands up and begins to wander further into the field, but I grab his wrist. "Please, don't…"

"Come on," I say, dragging him back inside. I take him to my room, where I help him to wash his hands. As I do so, he stares at himself in the mirror and starts to hyperventilate. "Craig –" I start, only to be cut off.

"WHO IS CRAIG?" he screams, turning around and pounding on the door as if he doesn't remember how to open it so I do it for him. He pushes me onto the floor and shuts the door behind me.

"Fuck," I mumble to myself, beginning to stress out. He must've taken some really potent shit. I stand up and press my ear to the door. I hear the rustle of clothing before the sound of urination. I take a step back and let him take care of things. A minute later, the door opens and Craig is wide-eyed, not wearing a stitch of clothing. "Craig?" I whisper.

"Stop calling me that!" he yells angrily. He walks past me, raising both of his hands and beginning to pull on his hair. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," he mumbles, repeating it like some sort of mantra. I glance inside the bathroom and see his clothing on the ground. I bend down, picking them up and taking them to him but he doesn't seem to want to put them back on. I shut my dorm door before anyone can see him and I find myself really fucking thankful I found him before anyone else did. He'd never recover from that humiliation. Red's birthday fuck was enough for a lifetime.

He starts sobbing, rubbing his hands up and down his face. I approach him slowly and carefully. "Hey," I whisper, deciding not to call him by name this time because it doesn't seem to be doing any good. He sinks to his knees and stares at the ground, continuing to cry loudly. I'm really taken aback because when Craig cries, he doesn't cry like this. He cries quietly. He stifles himself as best as he can, but he's not doing that now. Instead, he's crying the way a child might – completely unrestrained.

Before I can attempt to comfort him, Eric walks in and gives me the strangest look. "Get out," I whisper, knowing that it probably wouldn't do any good to have someone like him in the room.

But naturally, Eric doesn't do as he's told. Instead, he saunters inside, shutting the door behind him. "So," he sings, "what do we have here?"

"I'm trip sitting for Craig," I say.

"What'd he take?"

"I have no fucking clue," I admit.

Eric kneels down and grins at Craig. "Hey, buddy," he says in a less than sincere tone. "How're you doing?"

Craig's wet eyes widen and he suddenly brings a fist up and hurls it into Eric's face.

"You little homo!" Eric angrily shouts.

"Stop," I say, irritated beyond belief. "Just go, Eric. You can come back tomorrow. Go sleep in Craig's bed tonight. Tell Clyde he's tripping balls and I'm taking care of him, so not to worry. _Only_ tell Clyde. No one else needs to know about this."

"Whatever," Eric snaps, turning around and leaving. He slams the door and Craig nearly jumps out of his skin. He starts shaking.

"Craig?"

"No," he murmurs.

A moment later, the door swings open again and Clyde comes in. "Jesus fucking Christ," I mumble.

"Craig?" Clyde says his best friend's name, taking in his awful state with a sad look. "Shit, what the hell happened?"

"Bad trip," I tell him. "Didn't Eric give you the fucking memo?"

"All he said is that I should go to your room."

"Naturally," I spit. He always needs to stir the fucking pot.

"My God," he whispers, kneeling down in front of Craig. "Hey… Craig?"

"No," Craig says again.

"Look, dude," I start. "I'm taking care of him, so you can take it easy. I've been through this kind of thing a few times, so I know what to expect."

Clyde nods sadly. "Lemme know how he is tomorrow, 'kay?"

"I will," I assure him.

Clyde turns to leave, closing the door softly behind him. This time, I lock it. When I turn to Craig, he is still shaking and then he throws up on the floor. "Oh, God," I mutter. I run into the bathroom and dampen a cloth, wiping Craig's chin off. I help him stand and escort him to the bed, forcing him to lie down. I clean the vomit off the floor before spraying it with anti-bacterial wash and when I turn around, Craig is flailing on my bed. "Hey, hey," I say quietly, putting a hand on his chest.

He stops and takes a calm breath. He shuts his eyes for a brief moment and when he opens them, they're wide. He stares up at the ceiling and looks frightened, though I don't understand what he is seeing. He rolls onto his side, as if he's trying to mentally escape, and starts crying again. He shoves his face into the pillow and continues wailing hysterically. I let out a sigh and lie down next to him. I wrap an arm around him and he shudders. "You're going to be fine," I say. "You're going to be fine."

"Where is he?" Craig chokes out the question in between violent sobbing.

"Who?" I ask gently.

"Kenny!" he shouts, as if the answer shout be obvious. "I made him go away, but he should be here! I need him…"

And I don't know why, but that makes me heart sink. "I _am_ here," I say quietly.

"Kenny?"

"Yeah, Kenny."

He rolls around and looks at me. "Then who's Craig?" he asks.

"Someone I love," I tell him. "He's beautiful, in and out." I decide to keep talking, hoping that it'll somehow help. Maybe it'll be a comforting distraction, or maybe hearing about himself will help him snap back to reality. "He has braces. He thinks they're dumb, but I like them. He has pale skin and black hair, kind of a Snow White thing going on," I snicker. "We used to fight a lot. We get along these days, though. Well, for the most part. I hurt him – hit him and said some nasty things. Understandably, he's angry at me right now, so he said I need to give him space. I've been trying."

His eyes are red and his face is flushed. He looks sick and I just watched him puke before cleaning it up, but he is still fucking beautiful. I don't know how long he stays like this, just looking at me and listening to my dumb words, but I feel relieved that he's no longer crying. Eventually, he closes his eyes and his breathing evens.

"Jesus Christ," I whisper to myself. My mouth feels dry and there's a lump growing in my throat. I swallow it once, but it comes back and my eyes begin water. A few years escape, but I brush them away.

What a night. I pull him close before finally closing my eyes.

* * *

The following morning, I wake up and Craig is shaking in his sleep. I don't dare move. I don't want to wake him too soon, in case he feels unpleasant aftereffects of the bad trip. I don't know what time it is, but it's probably late. I guess we won't be going to class today.

Soon, Craig stirs. I say his name, hoping to God he'll answer to it this time. "Mm?" he murmurs groggily, opening his eyes and staring at me.

Good enough. "You okay?" I ask.

He sits up rather suddenly and says, "Kenny?" He reaches for a blanket, covering himself with it. His hair is stuck up in odd angles and he has bags under his eyes.

I smile sheepishly. "Yeah, hi." I stand and fill him a cup of tap water. His mouth probably tastes like shit right about now. He gladly takes it and drinks.

"What time is it?" he asks, putting the empty cup on the nightstand.

I look over at the digital clock. "It's almost two," I say.

"Shit," he mumbles.

"Do you remember last night?" I ask. "You were fucked off your ass."

"Yes," he says solemnly. "It was messy."

"You scared the shit out of me, you know."

"It wasn't my intention."

"What the hell were you doing, anyway?" I ask.

"Shrooms," he murmurs so quietly I barely make out the word.

I shake my head at him. "Dude, those can really fuck you up."

"So I've noticed," he says dryly. "I've done them before… but this has never fucking happened to me."

"You need to be in a good state of mind to do that shit. Clearly, you weren't."

"Fuck," he sighs.

I sit back down on the bed. "Can you tell me what you were seeing last night?" I ask. "Whatever it was, it sounded horrifying. I mean, I wasn't seeing what you were seeing, but I still got scared. You really fucking scared me. I thought you were going to go mental and never recover."

"I thought so, too," he admits. "I couldn't remember my name, but when you called me Craig I remember thinking that that definitely _wasn't_ my name. I don't know why, but it made sense in my head. Just like digging the holes. I don't really know what I was searching for. I think I was trying to search for my name. I don't know why I thought I'd find it in the ground. You took me inside and I remember thinking I'd never find my name and I felt sombre."

"Sorry," I murmur an apology, unsure of what else to say.

Craig just shakes his head before continuing, "When I saw myself in the mirror in your bathroom, my skin started melting off my bones. When I saw you in the mirror, you had horns and a twisted expression. You looked like Satan and I thought maybe the mirror was showing me the future and I thought you were trying to kill me by melting me with hellfire. I forgot how to open the door, which I thought was a portal, but then you opened it. So, I pushed you and locked myself in the bathroom. I looked at myself again and I wasn't melting anymore. Then I thought the fibres in my clothing were like cells and that they were going to come alive and start suffocating and binding me if I kept them on, so I took them off. After that, I had to pee. It was the best piss I ever took." He lets out a sad chuckle, rubbing his temples.

"What happened after?" I ask quietly. "You started crying when you left the bathroom."

"Yeah," Craig murmurs. "I started thinking about the meaning of life and I convinced myself that life had no meaning and it made me upset. I thought that we were just a game the Gods were playing or something and I felt completely hopeless and helpless. The realization that I was just a spectacle, some source of entertainment… it made me flip shit. It kind of reminded me of the time I slept with Red and everyone was coming in and out of the room. I lot of people witnessed me lose my virginity… I don't know why I remebered that but I couldn't remember my own name."

"I'm really sorry," I say sincerely because I know it's partially my own fault. If I got him that drunk I should have at least kept an eye on him.

"Then Eric came in, right?" he asks. "I punched him in the face because he looked like a goat and I didn't understand what a goat was doing in here."

If this wasn't such a serious thing, I might've laughed. "Why a goat?"

"I have no fucking idea."

"Ah," I say. "He got really fucking pissed off at you for that. He'll probably have a bruise and when people ask about it he'll lie about it."

"Yeah," Craig snorts. "Probably for the best. I don't really want people knowing about what went on last night."

"No shit," I say sympathetically. "What happened after Eric left, then?"

"There was a bang and I got so scared I felt physically sick. Clyde came in and said my name, but I was still convinced I wasn't Craig. I was still scared from when that fat idiot slammed the door and I thought if I threw up I'd be throwing away my fear. So, I puked and you made me lie down. I remember sinking into the mattress and feeling like I was drowning. So I was flailing and I felt you put a hand on my chest to try and get me to stop, so I did and I realized I wasn't drowning. I calmed down a notch, but then I looked up at the ceiling and kept seeing shapes moving and I thought it was some sort of creature trying to escape the confines of the building structure. I think I started crying again. I remember you putting an arm around me and that's when I finally found out who you were because every time I looked at you, you were something different. There was always something wrong with you. In my head I just couldn't place you and when you brought me back inside you looked like the fucking devil… You said your name and then you finally started looking like yourself. I think I felt relieved. I forgot that I was supposed to be angry at you and I just felt inexplicably relieved. I felt safe enough to breath. I remembered you saying _Craig_ a bunch of times, so I asked who he was. I listened to you and I slowly began to connect again. Things started coming back to normal and I remembered Craig was me, even though in the beginning of the night I denied it. It's probably because I was so fucked I wasn't acting at all like myself."

"Yeah, trippy..." I whisper. "You fell asleep shortly after that."

"You stayed with me the whole time?" he asks.

"Yeah," I say once more. "Are you angry again, now that you're sober?"

"No," he admits. "I should be, though, right?"

"Probably," I say, "but I'm glad you're not. Does this mean we can talk again?"

"I did miss you, you know. It didn't take that long… Last night, I can remember that, amidst all the fucked up things I was seeing, I really wanted you to be there to tell me it'd be fine and it would stop soon and I'd be okay. You weren't, but then you were." He pauses. "So, yeah, I guess we can talk again." He smiles faintly, still looking thoroughly tired. He lies back down and closes his eyes.

"How do you feel now?" I ask.

"Like shit."

"Then just sleep," I tell him. "I'll tell Clyde you're fine if I see him."

"Okay," he murmurs.

"Feel better," I say. I go take a shower, washing myself and trying to forget about how awful last night made me feel. I guess I'm stupidly selfish for thinking about it like that. Craig probably feels a hundred times worse about it, but that doesn't really ease my anxiety. If he ever thinks about doing shrooms again, I'll slap him. I swear. After washing, I dry off and put on a pair of shorts and plain a t-shirt before leaving the bathroom. Craig is fast asleep in my bed, so I decide to go and tell Clyde he's alive and stuff.

* * *

Naturally, since I told Eric to keep Craig's bad trip a secret, everyone knows. "Is Craig all right?" Kyle and Stan ask once I step foot in the common room.

"Yes, he's fine," I sigh. "Where's Clyde?"

"He's in class," Kyle informs me. "He'll be out in fifteen minutes."

"Great," I say before taking a seat on a nearby chair.

"Rough night?" Stan asks.

"Long and scary, that's for sure." I felt like I was watching someone descend into insanity. I guess that isn't far from it. For hours, Craig lost grip on reality. He started seeing things that weren't there and believing things that weren't true. His senses were mixed up. That's what drugs can do. I can't imagine it personally, but I've seen this kind of thing before. My brother, Kevin, he loves the drugs. Shrooms are one of his favourites and I've seen him have a few bad trips, though they were nothing extreme in comparison to what I witnessed Craig go through last night.

I wave when I see Clyde strolling down the hallway. When he spots me, he starts running. "How's Craig?" he asks.

"Fine," I smile. "He's sleeping it off."

"Shit," Clyde sighs. "He looked horrible."

"He puked as soon as you left," I say. "He started coming down a little while later and then he fell asleep."

"Thank God," he mumbles. 'Hell, you're a good fuckin' person for taking care of him like that."

"I've done it for Kevin before," I shrug. I thought I knew what I was in for, but Craig still ended up surprising me.

We all grab an early supper and once I'm done eating, I head back to my room. Craig is awake by the time I get back. "Hey," I say. "I brought you a sandwich."

"Thanks," he murmurs, sitting up and taking it. He eats slowly with careful bites, as if his stomach is still uneasy.

"Do you still feel sick at all?" I ask.

"Just generally shitty," he says.

"Oh… How long will that last?" I wonder.

"I don't know," he admits. "You hear horror stories about kids getting so fucked up they never fully recover. They either go insane or they're in this permanent state of apathy."

"If you get any more apathetic, I think we're going to have a problem," I say lightly.

"Yeah," he snorts. "What if…" he pauses.

"What if what?" I ask.

"No." He shakes his head. "Never mind."

"Now you have to tell me," I chuckle. "What is it?"

"What if this isn't real," he says slowly. "What if what I was seeing last night was real and drugs make us see the truth?"

"Shut up," I laugh uncomfortably. "I hate that theory. It isn't true."

"What if it is?"

"No. Don't think about it, okay? I don't want this to become some sort of unhealthy obsession. If you ever touch drugs again I'm going to hit you."

"Is that a promise?" he asks perversely.

I just smile at him. "I worry about you."

"You don't have to," he assures me. "After last night, I'd have to hate myself to try that again and I don't hate myself."

"Good," I say quietly. "Good."

Jesus Christ, I'm relieved. I guess something good came out of this fucking messed up situation. Craig is talking to me again and I didn't even have to wait the month. I would've, though. I would've waited the whole month and I would've been good. I think I've learned my lesson. I'm not going to take advantage of him anymore.

"Are we dating again?" I ask.

"If you tell your friends, then sure," he says. "I've decided I'm not fond of secrets."

I let out a groan.

"It shouldn't be so fucking difficult," he continues. "You either want to be with me, or you don't."

"I do…"

"Then tell your friends," he sighs. "It's really not a big fucking deal. They're not going to give a shit. Christ, Kyle's gay and Eric hasn't been screwing with his head."

"It's hard," I say quietly. "You live your life letting people think one thing and then suddenly you're something else. I think everyone knew Kyle was gay. I mean, he acts kind of gay, so it wasn't really a surprise. If I tell people I'm dating a guy, they'll make a big deal out of it."

"So fucking what?" Craig asks once he's done eating. "Don't let them. You're being so fucking dramatic. I didn't know you were such a little bitch."

"Hey!" I protest.

"Where are my clothes?" He glances around.

"Here," I say, fetching them from the table in the corner of the room.

"Turn around," he demands.

"Dude, I've licked your asshole," I snort. "I'm pretty sure we're way past that."

He looks at me with disdain. I just grin and shrug, but I turn around nonetheless. "Okay," he says a minute later. I turn back around and he's wearing the same t-shirt and plaid pajama pants as last night.

"Look…" he starts again, letting out a soft sigh. "We can tell them together if that would make it any easier?"

"Fine, yeah," I say. "Maybe… I don't know…"

He rolls his eyes. "We're doing it today," he tells me with finality. "Otherwise you'll keep trying to put it off and I'll get sick of it."

"Fine," I say again. "I do love you, y'know… I know I don't say it a lot, but…"

"I know that," he whispers. "I love you, too."

I smile a small smile.

"Anyway," he adds, "I'm leaving. I need a shower. I feel repulsive."

I don't say anything else. I watch him go and don't allow myself to think about how the guys are going to react when they find out I'm not as straight as they think. But maybe Craig's right and I'm just overreacting. Maybe they're not going to give a shit. Well, I know Kyle won't. I'm honestly just worried that Eric is going to make a scene because he's insecurely homophobic or that Clyde is going to tell Craig I'm not good enough. Then again, he did tell me he thought I was a good person today, but that might change once he realizes I'm putting it up his best friend's butt. Ah, fuck. I'm not going to think about it until Craig comes back, otherwise I'll give myself a headache.


	9. KB: That damn thing

**South Park © Matt & Trey. **

**Kyle's POV**

* * *

I haven't done anything sexual with Cartman since sucking him off, but we've been spending time together. He mostly watches me read and study. I don't mind. There's something quiet and comfortable about it. I think I might want to do more, but I'm not quite sure how to bring it up. I'm still not quite sure how I gathered enough confidence to say it in the first place. Me and Cartman… Who woulda thunk it? Definitely not me, that's for sure.

However, I'm not going to think about that now. I've just returned to my dorm room. The rest of the guys are still in class. I finish early and I've decided that since I'm horny, I'll try putting that _thing_ they made me buy to use. I did pay money for it so I may as well use it. It's me-time.

I fetch it from my drawer in the bathroom and stare at it for a long time. The fact that I'm going to stick it up my ass is making me blush, even though I'm the only one who will know about it. I lock the door and take my clothing off before sitting on my bed.

"I can't believe I'm about to do this," I whisper to myself, rubbing lube over the phallic object. I lay on my back and I spread my legs, feeling shy even though I'm the only one in the room. It isn't like I haven't masturbated before. Christ. Just as I have it half way in, I hear the dorm door unlock and before I can make myself decent it swings open. "Fuck…!"

Stan stares at me with wide eyes that show unmasked shock. I stare back, forcing a blank expression to stay plastered to my face. I'm not about to start blushing like a kid caught stealing candy.

"Uh… Hey, Stan," I greet him evenly, not budging an inch. He simply salutes me and then leaves the room, swinging the door shut and locking it from the outside.

Ho-ly shit!

* * *

After what proves to be a pleasurable experience, apart from the interruption, I clean off and throw my clothing back on. Then I prepare for the inevitable. I go find Stan. When I do, he looks like he's in the middle of telling a story. I arrive just in time to hear the best part.

"Come on, just finish the story," Kenny urges.

"Okay, so there's Kyle, right? Not wearing a stitch of clothing, legs spread wide apart… and yup, Kenny, you'll be proud. He was putting that dildo to good use. I saw _everything_!"

Kenny chortles loudly. "Oh, hey, Kyle!"

Stan spins around and looks sheepish. He laughs somewhat nervously and my own mouth curves upward. "Sorry you had to see that," I say.

He smiles and shrugs his shoulders. "That's okay. Definitely not the first time I've seen your ass… though it's never been in that context."

Cartman looks less than amused. I just grin at him because I can tell he's jealous Stan saw me like that first. Craig and Clyde saunter into the room a short while later and Kenny asks them, "How was class?"

"Fine," they both say in unison.

"You would not believe what I just saw," Stan starts.

"What?" Clyde asks.

"They don't need to know, Stan," I say dryly.

"Now I'm curious," Clyde snorts, taking a seat.

I just roll my eyes and Stan regales them with the story of seeing me stick that damn thing up my ass. Clyde laughs boisterously at the tale. "We all knew he'd try it out."

"Yeah, how was it, Kahl?" Cartman asks tauntingly. "Did you enjoy it?"

"For sure," I say.

"Oh!" Kenny suddenly jumps up. "Me and Craig have an announcement."

"Huh?" Clyde raises an eyebrow.

"Okay," Kenny starts. He stands next to Craig and looks at us all. "We're together," he says, taking Craig's hand.

"Fags," Cartman calls.

"Aw," I coo. "When did this happen?" Though I can't say I'm surprised. I knew Kenny was trying to better himself for someone. Craig looks like the kind of guy who wouldn't tolerate Kenny's bullshit for too long.

"Er," he murmurs, "over a year."

"What?" I deadpan. Well, I guess I was wrong. Though, it's weird. Craig doesn't seem the type to sit back and let Kenny cheat and cheat and cheat. I wonder how they kept it a secret for so long.

"That long?" Clyde asks, surprised. "Why didn't you tell me…?"

"This idiot got scared," Craig says with disdain, shooting Kenny a less than impressed look. "Hence all the fucking cheating."

"Not cool, dude," Clyde shakes his head.

Kenny looks sheepish, but Craig probably isn't mad because the two of them disappear a few minutes later. They're probably going to fuck each other's brains out. I kind of wish someone would fuck my brains out. I'm getting horny again and it's probably pretty obvious. If Kenny were here, he'd call me out on it because, for some reason, he can always tell when someone is trying to suppress a boner. It's like his sixth sense.

Stan and Clyde start talking about a communications class they're both taking. Once they are preoccupied, I make eye contact with Cartman and nod towards the exit.

"I'm going to head back to our room," I tell Stan.

"Gonna go play with yourself some more?" he asks, snickering.

"No," I insist with a laugh, though I suppose there's some truth to it.

"I'm going to stay here for the next little while," he says. "I'll see you in a bit."

"Have fun studying," I tell them. I leave a moment later and make my way to my dorm. A few minutes later, the door swings open and Cartman walks inside. He locks the door behind himself and then crosses his arms.

"So," he states. "You used the dildo."

"Yeah," I can't help but laugh. "Stan walked in and saw the whole damn thing. He eyes almost popped out of his head."

"Hm," he grumbles.

"Aw, jealous?" I ask, smiling. I give his cheek a couple patronizing slaps before he swats my hand away.

"No," he insists, but I can tell he's lying.

"You don't need to be jealous of Stan," I promise him. "We're close as close can be. I mean, fuck, I've told you about the time during that sleepover where I woke up with Stan's fucking boner digging into my ass. That kind of shit doesn't mean anything. It would only mean something if I did something about the fact that his boner was that close to me."

"Well, did you _want_ to do something about it?" he asks.

"No," I laugh. "Besides, you have no right to be jealous anyway. This is just sex, isn't it? We aren't together."

He moves closer and grabs a fistful of my hair, moving my head back and bearing my neck. "What if I want more from you?"

"Oh?" I ask, amused. "Like what?"

"What if I want to be the only one to see you the way Stan saw you today."

"I'd say maybe."

"Maybe?" he repeats, letting me go.

"Yes, maybe." Without further ado, I reach for the edge of my shirt and pull it over my head, tossing it onto the floor.

"Eager, huh?" he asks before doing the same. Once we're undressed, he doesn't hesitate to touch me and I feel myself grow hard in his hand. "Bend over," he demands.

"Ask nicely," I simper sweetly.

"Bend over, _please_," he says the word distastefully.

I crawl onto the bed and lift my ass up while resting my cheek on the fresh scented sheets. I feel his hands on my backside before his wet thumbs start prying me open. "…mm…" I whimper as they're removed and he drives in with little warning. "Ah! Fuck!" I shout, clutching a nearby pillow.

"This is fun, isn't it Kahl?" he snickers. "Are you sure you haven't let Stan do this to you yet?"

"Sh-shut up, f-fucking fat-ass," I hiss. "You'll ruin the m-mood..."

He chuckles, continuing to rock his hips back and forth rapidly. I moan loudly into the pillow whilst hoping that, speaking of Stan, he doesn't choose now to come back. I close my eyes, as Cartman grabs me by the hips – preventing me from lurching forward as he quickens his pace. He finishes inside of me with a solid grunt – not that I expected anything else. Unlike me, he is hardly vocal. He doesn't use a condom, but then again, I don't really mind if it gets a little messy as long as we're careful.

Cartman lets out a sigh as he pulls out and I make a face, feeling his jizz dripping out of my ass. "Quite the view," he admires, giving me a slap on the behind before flipping me over so I'm on my back. I spread my legs apart and let him kneel in between them. "No matter who else you sleep with," he begins, wrapping his hand around me, "it won't be as good as this."

"You talk far too much," I say, breathing heavily, rolling my hips into his hand.

He snorts, moving his hand faster. I feel my toes curl and, before I can stop myself, I let out this annoying mewl as I shoot my load into his hand. Cartman examines the mess before wiping it on my stomach.

"Dumb-ass," I sigh, giving him a dry look.

"Jew-bitch," he retorts.

"For the record," I start, "I never really wanted anyone else like this."

"Killer," he says, lying down next to me. "You know, you're a hell of a lot less shy than I thought."

"I told you." I roll over and drape myself flat on top of him. My hips against his, my cock against his, my lips against his. "Am I too heavy?" I wonder aloud after we break apart.

"Not at all," he snorts, touching the small of my back before grabbing my ass.

"Good," I say. "I quite like lying here… but unfortunately, we should probably get dressed. Stan will probably cry if he sees this much in one day." I roll off of him a minute later and clean myself. Cartman does the same and we put our clothing back on. Just in the nick of time, too, because Stan walks in a few moments after.

"Carman?" he asks dumbly, eying the both of us. "What are you doing here?"

"Bugging Kahl," Cartman says evenly. "What does it look like?"

Stan shrugs, seemingly satisfied with the fib. Me and Cartman share a look of amusement and Stan flops onto the bed. "I'm taking a nap," he announces. I'll have to wash my sheets later.

* * *

It's now Friday. Classes have ended and since it's the weekend once again, this naturally means a party. It's only 5PM and kids are already drunk and humping one another. Welcome to fuckin' university. I guess, for some people, it's never too early for booze.

As I wander through the crowds in search of a familiar face, I hear a voice call my name. "Kyle!"

I turn around and see the guy who took my virginity. I force away the blush that wants to creep across my face and say, "What?"

"Careful," he chides, smirking. "If I didn't know any better I might think you were unhappy to see me."

"Well, I'm not exactly thrilled," I admit. "You're a bit of a pig, you know."

"Am I?" he laughs. He throws an arm around me and I immediately shake it off. "Come on," he says, "Lemme get you a drink."

"No."

"Just one?" he pleads.

"Fine," I tersely accept.

He smiles and we approach the drink table. He pours two cups of rum and hands me one.

"Tryin' to get me liquored up?" I ask in a joking tone, taking the red cup.

"Maybe," he says, and I'm not sure whether or not he's kidding around. He better be.

"I don't even remember your fucking name," I say.

"That's because I never told you."

"Well, how the hell do you know mine?" I wonder. He just shrugs his shoulders, smiling as he takes a swig of his drink. I can't help but roll my eyes. "What's your name, then?" I ask, taking a long sip of my own drink.

"It's Trent."


	10. EC: Too late

**South Park © Matt & Trey. **

**Eric's POV**

* * *

Surprise, surprise, there's yet another stupid party. I swear it's all these idiots do. Drink, drink, drink… and don't forget the drugs and humping. They're all a bunch of hippies. I fucking hate hippies. They rant about changing the world but all they do is smoke pot and stink up the room with their bad hygiene and joints. Gross.

I have all these stupid, shitty assignments due on Monday but all I can hear is the fuckin' music coming from the common room. I'm currently seated in a reading room, but I can't even think straight with fuckin' shitty dance songs playing on maximum volume. "Fucking Christ," I murmur, standing up. I wander outside and into the common room, where there are crowds of people grinding up against one another. Sick! I don't need to see this crap.

I scan the area for a familiar face, but all I see is that bitch Craig… Kenny's stupid, little boyfriend. It's fuckin' weird as hell that they're together. He's in the corner of the room chatting with a few kids I don't know, but also looking like he'd rather not be in a social situation. For once, I can't blame him. Parties are pretty gay, especially these kinds of parties.

"Hey," I call as I approach him.

He looks at me and nods his silent greeting.

I don't waste time. "Where is Kahl?" I ask.

"I don't know," Craig states flatly. He's not being very helpful.

I let out an impatient sigh. "Well, have you seen Stan or Kenny?"

He shakes his head.

Christ, where the fuck is everyone? "Where's Clyde, then?"

"Studying," Craig says.

"Tsk, you're no fuckin' help at all" I murmur before wandering off. I begin asking around. "Have any of you seen Kyle Broflovski?" I ask impatiently, approaching a group of people.

"Who's that?" one questions.

"He's pale, short and thin with a red Jewfro," I explain impatiently.

"Oh, I think I saw a guy like that," another says, nodding at my description. "He disappeared with Trent. He looked fucked out of his mind, stumblin' around 'n shit."

"Who the hell is Trent?" I question, raising an eyebrow and definitely not liking the sound of this.

"Trent Boyett."

Well, shit. Suddenly my eyes bugger out of my head as realization. "Oh, fuck my ass," I hiss, turning around. I bet that twisted fuck gave Kyle a Mickey Finn and the damn Jew probably didn't even suspect foul play. This is bad. Trent's even more fucked up than I am, and that's saying a hell of a lot. This is fuckin' weak. Actually, it's more that weak. Jesus Christ. After five years past and there was no sign of that bastard, we all thought we had gotten rid of him for good. I guess not. He just took his sweet fuckin' time. God dammit, this is bad. This is really, really fucking bad.

I start walking like I'm on a mission and Craig catches me on my way out, asking, "What happened?" He looks strangely concerned, as if he can tell something bad might be going down.

"Trent Boyett happened," I murmur, though I doubt the name means much to him.

"Who?" he questions. Called it.

"No time to explain," I tell him as I walk briskly down the hall. "Just know this much: he's bad fuckin' news."

Craig doesn't ask any further questions, he just follows silently behind me. I go straight to the dorm I share with Kenny, knowing the stupid hoodrat is probably in there. I'm going to make him help me look for the Jew. I swing open the door and open my mouth upon arrival, only to immediately close it once taking a second to scan the room. Jesus. Nothing seems to be going right. "Oh, fuck," I spit loudly, knowing this can't be good. Kenny is lying limp and lifeless on the floor next to his nightstand. There is blood on the wooden corner and there is blood seeping from behind his head. His eyes are also still open. It looks like his skull got knocked off the sharp edge. Lame. Fuckin' lame. At least he died quick by the looks of things.

Craig's eyes widen once he notices and it's the most expressive I've ever seen him. Were this a different situation, I might have laughed in his face. "No!" he shouts, pushing past me and sinking to the floor next to Kenny. He shakes him and shouts his name, but there's no reply. Craig slowly leans down and puts his ear to Kenny's chest. Then he starts sobbing and I know that means he's dead. "Fucking do something!" he screams at me, agonizing desperation evident in his voice. It almost makes me feel bad. _Almost_. Not quite. "Oh, God…" he croaks, staring back down at the corpse.

"He's dead," I say insensitively. "There's nothing to be done." But Kenny will be back soon enough. I won't bother giving Craig the reassurance, though, since I'm not especially fond of him. Even if I did choose to tell him, he probably wouldn't believe me anyway. He'd only get angry at me for saying it and at himself for wanting to be hopeful.

I watch him lean over and sob into his dead boyfriend's sweater for a minute, overcome with a sick sort of satisfaction and joy. I bet I'm one of the only few people in the world who have seen him looking like this. But I can't stay and watch the whole damn show, so I let out a sigh and say, "I need to find Stan. You coming or not?"

If he hears me, he doesn't say anything. So, I leave him alone with the corpse. I'm not going to waste time. By the looks of things, I can't afford to. I close the door and run to the dorm Kyle shares with Stan. I prepare myself for another body and when I swing the door open, I'm greeted with Stan's. He's lying on the floor, bloody faced with his head tilted to the side, but I can see his chest slowly moving up and down. He's alive. I call Clyde and tell him to take Stan to the campus nurse, which he agrees.

"I'm on my way over, but… why does Stan need to be taken to the nurse? What the fuck's going on?" he asks. He has questions, but I hang up because I haven't the time to answer them. Next, I dial Kyle's phone number at a whim.

A voice answers, but I know it isn't Kyle's. "Kyle can't come to the phone right now," the smug baritone states, "he's a bit, er, preoccupied… if you know what I mean. By now, you probably do."

"Who the fuck is this?" I ask angrily.

"I think you know," the voice sing-songs.

"Lemme talk to Kahl!" I shout.

"I told you," the voice states tersely, as if he's annoyed I didn't get the message the first time. "Kyle is busy." He hangs up after that and I don't hesitate to dial again. This time there is no answer. I didn't really think there would be.

I walk down an empty hallway, distancing myself from the sound of the dance music playing in the common room. I start dialling Kyle's cellphone yet again when suddenly I hear it ringing. I follow the sound until it gets louder and I'm lead to a door a few feet up the hall. I try to open it but, of course, it's fucking locked. I knock a few times, but there isn't an answer. I let out a sigh and take a step back. With as much strength as I can muster, I kick the door in. It opens with a bang and the first thing I spot is Kyle.

I see him unconscious on the floor while a broad, blond male hovers over him. It's Trent. I should have realized it sooner, then maybe we could have prevented this entire fucking event. I see the tattoos on his shoulders.

_Never forget _and _Vengeance is mine, sayeth the lord. _

My gaze wanders back towards Kyle and I just about shit myself when I notice exactly what it is Trent doing _my_ Jew. "Stop!" I demand, rushing towards them.

Trent doesn't budge. "Don't come any closer," he says in a soft and even tone. He just keeps doing what he's doing. He just keeps sliding his stupid fucking "kill all betrayers" switchblade down Kyle's face.

I halt, knowing that this is a sensitive situation. If I make the wrong move, he might remove the blade from Kyle's face and stick it in his neck. "Stop… Seriously, stop," I try once more, shaking with anger and probably a range of other emotions I'd rather not recognize.

Trent removes a cigarette from between his lips before speaking. "I don't want to," he murmurs, almost as if he's mesmerized with what he's doing.

"What the do you think you're doing?" I ask, voice wavering.

"Making art and putting what they taught me in group therapy to use," he says. Then he puts the cigarette out on Kyle's forearm. Kyle doesn't budge. He's still out cold, but I have a feeling if he were awake he'd be screaming. I'm kind of glad he's not. "So, don't come any closer. I'm not quite finished."

"Why did you kill Kinny?" I ask.

"McCormick put up a fight," Trent says. "Unlike Marsh, who was down after a couple hits… but he'll be dead soon, anyway…"

"What the fuck do you mean by that? He was fine… just knocked out."

"Drugs, you stupid fuck!" he shouts loudly and angrily. "Just like fun-loving Kenny, that moron Stan will be dead followed by precious Kyle and then you," he adds, finally stands up. I get a good look at Kyle's face and I want to grimace at the damage. There are three deep cuts in his left cheek and a plethora of cuts on his left forearm along with the fresh cigarette burn that's dirtying the wounds.

"What did you fucking do?" I whisper.

"I already told you," Trent says. He drops the bloody blade and turns around. "He's dying as we speak."

Fuck. For once in my life, I don't know what to do. "Why are you going after Kyle?" I ask evenly.

"He tried to make me look like an idiot," Trent states. "He thinks he's so much better than I am. You all do… but you're not. You're not better than me."

If this were any other circumstance I'd probably disagree with him. I'd probably rile him up and tell him that, yeah, we do think we're better than him. I'd give him proof of it by saying if he was so great, then why did we succeed in putting him in Juvenile Hall twice? But I don't say that. Instead, I'll try to use sense. "We were kids," I attempt to reason with him, but to no avail. Ah, I didn't really think it'd work anyway…

"You took ten years of my fucking life!" Trent screams. "You took my fucking childhood!" He's panting, probably out of anger and hatred and whatever else he's kept bottled up. "Now, I'm going to give you all what you deserve! I'm going to take something from each and every one of you. Your lives!"

"Oh, yeah?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says, pulling a gun from his pocket. Before I can hardly register the action, he pulls the trigger. I guess I'm fucked now. Maybe I was fucked from the very start. Maybe we all were. How lame.

I feel it cut through me and words cannot describe the pain. I fall backwards and Trent immediately makes a run for it once I hit the floor. There's nothing I can do now. I turn my head and stare at Kyle. There's blood running down his face and arm. I stare at him with intent, feeling like I'm trying to will him into consciousness, though I know that it's stupid of me. It's desperate.

I let out a loud, pained groan, unable to find it in me to move. It hurts. It hurts too much.

More than anything I want to kill Trent, but it's too bad because he's probably just killed me.


	11. CD: 911

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Thanks for reviewing! **

**Clyde's POV**

* * *

So, get this: An hour ago Eric Cartman calls me on my cellphone. I'm sitting in my dorm room studying. Well, studying might be a loose term. I was actually jerking off a bit, but hey, what's the difference really? Even when I study my brain doesn't really soak anything up. But like I was saying… Eric Cartman called me. He sounded frantic, though probably against his will. He likes to try and play the tough guy.

"You need to take Stan to the nurse," he said, stern yet scared.

"What?" I asked. I was taken aback. I didn't really understand what was going on.

"He's in his room. Hurry."

I asked him a string of other questions, but he hung up on me. I just shrugged and made my way to Stan's room. I partially expected to see him too drunk to function, but instead I saw him unconscious with a bloody face and bruised flesh. That surprised me.

"Oh, shit!" I shouted, bending down to check his pulse and praying he'd be fine. It was slow and I didn't hesitate to react. I heaved him over my shoulder and ran across the campus to the nurse's office, ignoring every curious stare I got. When I arrived to my destination, the nurse told me to lay him on an empty cot behind a curtain. After some time, she said he wasn't responding. She was frantic. She made me call 911 and they transferred Stan to a hospital for tests. I didn't go with them. I knew something was definitely wrong, so I wanted to find Craig to make sure he was okay. He hadn't been around much of the night and I was growing worried.

I went to Kenny and Cartman's room, because I thought that would be the likeliest spot. The first thing I noticed was the body – two pair of dead eyes staring at me as I hovered in the entrance. It was Kenny. I knew he was dead, but that didn't stop me from checking his pulse. That's when I noticed Craig. He was sitting in the corner of the room with his head in his hands. He wasn't crying. He was just perfectly still and silent. I shook him, but he didn't budge. I said his name, but he didn't respond so I called 911 for the second time that night.

The partying had stopped by then. Everyone was told to go back to their rooms after word of Stan's near death experience got around. It was quiet. Too quiet.

They came for Kenny. He was taken away in a body bag. I pulled Craig to his feet and let him lean against me as it happened. He started screaming and it scared me because I've never heard him scream before. Never once in all our years as friends. I thought he was going crazy, but I know it wasn't that. It was heart break. I wonder which is worse… maybe there is no difference. Maybe they're both the same. He experienced temporary insanity.

I swear what happened next happened in slow motion. I had an arm around Craig as we finally left the room and then all you could hear was a gunshot. I felt it echo about a hundred times. I can still hear it ringing in my head right now. It makes me shiver.

A door at the end of the hallway opened and blond man escaped. "Who…?" I started. Before I could get out of the way, I was shoved against a wall and Craig got punched in the face. He didn't react. "ASSHOLE!" I shouted to the guy, who just kept running. I helped Craig up and we continued down the hallway. My heart was beating so fucking fast. I can't remember being that scared before.

I felt sick to my stomach as we approached the room. Inside, there was Eric Cartman with a gaping hole in his chest. A few feet away from him was Kyle Broflovski, who was covered in his own blood. There was a plethora of cuts on his skin and it was horribly gruesome. Craig moaned miserably, turning away from the sight.

I approached them, feeling clammy and starting to sweat. I was scared, so fucking scared. For the third time, I called 911. This time, the police had questions for me and Craig. We did our best to answer them but Craig was still out of it. I did most of the talking until the end.

"Trent Boyett," came Craig's deep, monotone voice.

"What?" I asked him.

"Trent Boyett," he repeated the name. "That's what Eric Cartman said."

The cops were satisfied with that much.

We went to the hospital after they let us go. Craig started crying on the bus. Fortunately, we were the only people on it apart from a senile looking hobo. I just put my arm around him. I didn't tell him that everything would be fine, because I knew that would have been a big, fat lie.

When we got to the hospital, I inquired about Stan Marsh first. Apparently he got drugged up pretty good. They pumped his stomach and saved his life. They said he'd probably be awake tomorrow. Next I asked about Eric Cartman. They said he was still in surgery. Lastly, Kyle Broflovski. They stitched up Kyle's face and had to pump his stomach as well. I didn't bother asking about Kenny, because it didn't take a doctor to know he was gone. I think I'd know even if I didn't see it myself. Craig's reaction was enough.

They let us see Stan and Kyle. Stan just looked like he was sleeping, but Kyle looked wretched. He's going to have some really nasty scars. I wonder if he'll wear them proudly.

Things will probably be really messed up for a while. People don't just get over things like this. Kyle isn't going to look in the mirror and smile at the scars left behind. Stan won't joke around about the time he got punched out and drugged. Cartman, if he survives, will probably get over it pretty quick. That might be a good thing, though. It probably wouldn't do Stan and Kyle any good for all three of them to be in shambles… Honestly, I'm mostly worried about Craig. He loved Kenny and Kenny is dead.

So, that brings us to right now.

Me and Craig are sitting in the waiting room. I have my arm around him and his head is resting on my shoulder. A few minutes later he sits up and wanders out of the room. I follow after him as he walks out of the hospital lobby and onto an outdoor bench.

"Craig," I say. "Where the hell are you going?"

He takes a tin out of his sweater pocket and takes a tiny plastic baggy of marijuana out of it as well as a piece of rolling paper. His eyes grow wet and he sniffs, wiping his nose on his sleeve before continuing. I watch him roll a perfect joint, something I've been forced to watch many times. His hands are shaky, but it's still perfect. He licks it before sticking the filtered end it in his mouth and lighting it.

"Craig," I say his name once more, but he doesn't answer. He rubs a hand down his sullen face and sniffs again. All I can do is hope he won't do anything stupid. "Let's go back inside," I suggest.

Still, he says nothing. He just keeps smoking.

"Careful or you'll green out again," I warn. He's done it a few times in the past. I never see it coming. Seemingly out of the blue, he'll just pass out or puke. I don't know why he smokes so much. There's nothing fun about getting sick.

"Why aren't you crying?" he suddenly asks, staring straight ahead at the brick wall of the hospital.

"What do you mean?"

"You cry a lot," he says flatly. "You cry every time something upsets you… but you're not crying now."

"Well," I start, shrugging my shoulders lightly. "You're crying. It wouldn't solve anything to have the both of us in tears."

"Hm," he murmurs.

* * *

When we finally return inside, Craig looks stoic as ever. His arms are crossed and if I didn't know any better, I wouldn't assume he was as heartbroken as he is. He looks like his typical cynical, monotonous, apathetic self.

We sit back down in the waiting room. Craig reeks of marijuana, but I don't mention it. We sit quietly for what feels like hours. During this time, Gerald and Sheila Broflovski show up with Ike. I'm sure Stan's parents and Cartman's mom will soon follow.

"What happened?" Sheila shrieks at us. "My son's beautiful face is ruined!"

Craig doesn't answer. He just stays slumped in the chair staring down at his hands.

"I don't really know," I admit quietly, because it's the truth. All I know is that someone wanted Kyle, Stan, Cartman and Kenny all dead. I suppose if I were to be realistic, I would understand why. They did a lot of stupid shit when they were kids. I always stayed away from them when they were getting into trouble. So did Craig, but the both of us managed to get tied up once or twice. Stan, Kyle, Cartman and Kenny are really good at getting you dragged into their adventures. I'd prefer that over this.

Sheila isn't satisfied with my lack of knowledge, but there isn't much I can do about it.

Just as I suspected, Randy and Sharon Marsh show up shortly after. They start talking with the Sheila and Gerald, ignoring Craig and I. Not that I mind. Liane shows up moments later, in tears. The doctors are still operating and she's the only one who wasn't able to see her son. I watch them in almost a daze.

"Clyde?" Ike stands in front of me.

"Hm?" I murmur, glancing up at his young, worried face.

"Can you tell me what you saw?" he asks pleadingly.

I let out a soft sigh. "I hardly know. At first, everything was fine and I was just studying in my room," I start. All the parents turn my way, listening as I speak. "Then Cartman called me. He told me to take Stan to a nurse. I had questions, but he didn't answer any of them. He just hung up and I made my way to the room Stan shares with Kyle. When I opened the door, Kyle was nowhere in sight. It was just Stan there. He was unconscious, bleeding from the nose. There were fresh bruises on his face. That worried me… So I lifted him up and took him across the campus to the nurse. She couldn't do anything because he wasn't responding, so I called 911 and they took him here. I was freaking out by then, so I decided to find Craig. I went to Kenny and Cartman's room… Kenny was… dead," I whisper the word and I hear Craig sniff again. I glance over at him and his eyes are glassy.

"Fuck," he whispers to himself. He stands up and leaves the room. I want to follow him, but there are eyes on me and I know they want to know how the horror story ends.

I take a deep breath before continuing. "Craig was in there. He was in shock. I called 911 again and they took the body away. I was helping Craig out of the room when we heard a gunshot. Then we saw a blond guy running down the hall towards us. There was an open door at the top of the hallway, so we went inside. Cartman was shot in the chest… Kyle was cut up. Again, I called 911. The cops came and asked us questions. I didn't know how to answer most of them. I just told them what I'm telling you all… But Craig said it had something to do with a boy named Trent Boyett. The cops are looking for him now."

"Thank you, Clyde," Sheila says solemnly. Gerald nods at me, putting an arm around his wife. Liane starts sobbing loudly. I don't really blame her. Cartman is still in surgery. Randy looks angered, while Sharon tries to reassure him by saying their son is going to be fine.

Time and time again, I've learned that tragedy is a part of life. Everyone learns it at some point and I think that I can now confidently say it's something we all now understand… but we're young and it doesn't seem all that fair. Children aren't supposed to outlive their parents. When you're young, you aren't supposed to die.

I first faced tragedy when my mother bought the farm, but I knew it wouldn't be the last time. I was only ten, after all. Tragedy is an ongoing thing. Today, I lost a friend. So did Kyle, Cartman and Stan. Craig lost a boyfriend. I can't even begin to imagine what he must be feeling right now and I know there isn't anything I can possibly say that will ease his pain.

Eventually a doctor enters the waiting room and tells us that they got the bullet out and if things go smoothly, he should be waking up tomorrow. Knowing that, I can leave. I find Craig sitting outside again with the palms of his hands pressed against his eyes. "Come on, Craig," I say gently. I bring him back to the dorm. I hold his hand on the trek to the bus stop, during the ride to the university, and the walk to our room. He's gripping me to an almost painful extent, but I don't say anything.

"This wasn't supposed to happen…" he whispers. "We just fixed things… He wasn't supposed to die."

"I know," I say.

When we return to the dorm, we both sit on my bed and crack open a bottle of vodka. Craig drinks until he's tired. He passes out with his day-clothes still on and the bottle still in his hand. I gently pry his from his grip and set it on his nightstand. I can only pity him and hope this doesn't become a regular thing. I lie down beside him and close my eyes, hoping sleep will come quickly.


	12. KB: A true tale of passion

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Kyle's POV**

* * *

When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was that I wasn't in my bed. This is the second time that this has happened to me in the first few months of university, but right away I knew this was much different from the first time. After a few moments, I pieced together that I was in a hospital. That made sense. I knew Trent slipped me something after the first sip. It tasted funny and then things got hazy.

Trent. I knew that name. In a split second I put it together, unfortunately it was too late. Whatever it was he gave me, it was strong.

By what the doctors told me, he injected me with something to keep me knocked out and it would've eventually killed me… but I didn't die. I was saved.

My mom was here when I regained consciousness, hovering over my bed looking concerned and solemn. She cried and cried and cried. When I asked her why she was so upset. I mean... I know I almost died and stuff, but she was pretty a little dramatic. Nonetheless, she just shook her head, but I learned later. Now my face is all fucked up and one of my arms is horribly scarred. That aside, Kenny is dead. Naturally, I got emotional. Even with his promise of return, I know I probably still cry every time he dies. Who can blame me?

Ike smiled when he saw that I was all right. My dad got emotional, just like my mom. I asked about everyone else, they assured me that, apart from Kenny, everyone was fine. But perhaps _fine_ isn't the right word. Everyone is alive, though. That's what matters. Kenny will be back soon.

After that, I decided to tell them that I'm gay. I knew it was a bad time, but I decided to say it since it sprung to mind. I knew it would be impossible for them to get angry, even if they'd rather I was straight. The fact that I almost died would put a damper on any potential anger… but they weren't mad. My parents just smiled and said they knew. That didn't really surprise me.

The doctors let me and Stan leave the hospital today, but we're still here because of Cartman. He still didn't tell me how he managed to get shot. When I asked, he said he'd tell me later, when he didn't feel so tired. Clyde, Stan and me are all sitting with him now. Clyde is filling in some of the blanks.

"Stan wasn't responding so they took him to the hospital," he says. "I didn't go. I was looking for you. I wanted answers. I checked your room and found Craig and Kenny. Craig was just sitting in the corner of the room with his head in his hands. I think he was in shock. He wouldn't move or talk… and Kenny…"

"I know," Cartman murmurs. "I saw."

"I knew some serious shit was happening after that," Clyde continues. "Then there was a gunshot. I mean, we all heard it. It was like everything went quiet. I called 911 three times that night."

"I could fuckin' kiss you right now," Cartman says groggily. "You pretty much saved everyone's ass."

Clyde just laughs. "Let's save the celebrating until you guys have had some time to recover."

"Yeah," Cartman snorts. "I feel shit."

"Well, you did get shot," I say, smiling sympathetically.

"Yeah," he says, "and all for you."

"What?" I ask, taken aback at the confession.

But he doesn't answer. Instead, he says, "Stan, Clyde, give Kyle and I a minute, will yah?"

They share a strange glance, but nonetheless they do as he asks. Once they're gone, Cartman finally tells me what happened after I got knocked out. "I was looking for you," he admits. "I couldn't find you. I could only find Craig, so the two of us went to grab Kenny. I was going to make him help us look, but he was fucking dead… Craig flipped out and started crying all over the place, so he was generally useless. I kinda assumed something pretty fucked up was going on. A girl at the party mentioned a Trent Boyett and I pieced things together. I left Craig there and went to your room, which was where I found Stan. He was knocked out with a bloody nose. I called Clyde to take care of it and I went to find you. I called your cell, but Trent answered. Said you were busy and then hung up. I kept calling, followed the sound of the ringing and saw Trent in there, cutting up your face. I told him to stop, but he said he was making art."

"Jesus Christ," I whisper weakly, ghosting my fingers over my bandages and wondering what the skin beneath them might look like.

"Mhm," he murmurs before continuing the horror story. "He was smoking a cigarette. Once he was done, he put it out on your forearm. You were all cut up there, too. I was trying to stay calm because I knew he wouldn't hesitate to stab the shit outta you and I didn't want…" he trails off. "I didn't want to see you die."

"Yeah," I say weakly.

"When he was finished, he stood up and pulled out a gun. That's when he shot me. He didn't even hesitate. Hurt like a fucking bitch, let me tell you." He chuckles tiredly and I can't help but feel guilty, like he might not have gotten shot if I didn't fall for Trent's civil act. I'm so naïve and stupid sometimes.

"I'm sorry…" I look down, staring at the bandages on my arm and hoping the cuts aren't as gruesome as I think they are. I don't want people to stare at me and think I made those cuts. I don't want the first thing people see when they meet me to be the scars on my face. I don't want to constantly have to explain how I got them. It's no one's business, but I know that people are nosy and they love a tragic story as long as it doesn't involve them. I hate that.

"Kahl," Cartman sighs my name. "I know what you're probably thinking right now."

"Oh?" I urge him to continue.

"Yeah, you're probably having an argument with yourself right about now. You're probably worrying about how you'll hide all the scars, but y'know what? I say fuck it. Don't hide them. Let people see them. Let people know about them."

"Why?" I ask quietly.

"They're like… fuckin' battle scars," he explains proudly. "I think that's pretty damn cool. The doctors told me I'm going to have a gaping, sunken scar. Not going to be all that pretty, but I'm gonna wear it with pride because hey, not many people can say they got shot in the chest and lived. It's a pretty cool story, huh? I was on a mission. Too bad I didn't quite succeed."

I force a smile. "That doesn't matter," I say. "We're alive."

"Yeah," he says. "And soon enough, Kenny will be alive, too. We'll all be fine."

"Yes," I agree. We'll all be together again.

"How the fuck did Trent manage to drug you, anyway?" he asks.

"He was being… civil…" I say. "He coerced me into having a drink with him."

Cartman shakes his head at me. "Fuckin' gullible…" he trails off.

"Yeah," I admit with a frown. "It's something I need to work on."

"Oh, well," he says. "Everything worked out in the end. No one that died is going to stay dead."

"Right," I whisper, "but I can't help but feel that some of this could have been avoided… if I wasn't so stupid. If I was more careful, I wouldn't have gotten drugged. You wouldn't have gotten shot…"

Cartman shakes his head. "Don't be a dumb Jew. Trent wanted revenge and we probably weren't going to be able to stop him without some collateral damage. He's totally psychotic."

"I suppose so," I sigh.

"Don't blame yourself," he says.

"Fine," I relent. "I'll try not to…"

"So, have you given any thought to what I said a while ago?" He changes the subject.

"What was that?" I ask, unsure what he's talking about.

"I don't want to share you," he says.

"Oh. I have." I smile and take his large hand in mine. "Will you mind all the scars?"

"Of course not," he snorts. "What do you take me for? Shallow?"

"A bit," I admit.

He rolls his eyes at me, but laughs nonetheless. "So…?"

"I'll be yours," I tell him.

"Yeah?" he asks.

"Yeah."

"You're… seriously?"

I snicker. "Yes, I'm _seriously_."

"Fuckin' sweet," he grins. "Take a bullet for a bitch and he comes crawlin'."

"Oh, shut up," I say half-heartedly.

We call Clyde and Stan back in a moment later. "What was that all about?" Stan asks, giving us both a suspicious look. Then he notices that we're holding hands. "Oh," he says. "I get it."

"So weird," Clyde murmurs before chuckling warily. He looks exhausted, emotionally and physically. I don't blame him. He's probably been up worrying and keeping an eye on Craig. Poor Craig, he's probably heart broken. Fortunately, he'll forget he ever felt so bad once Kenny returns.

"Ay," Cartman cuts in. "I almost died for the Jew, no shit I wanna be with him."

"So romantic," Stan coos tauntingly. "A true tale of passion."

"Why aren't you guys upset?" Clyde suddenly asks.

"About…?" Cartman asks.

"Kenny!" Clyde exclaims, as if it should be crystal clear.

"Don't worry about that," I say, patting his shoulder. I suppose it doesn't matter how we act. When Kenny returns, our reactions will be forgotten.

* * *

A nurse comes in and informs us visiting hours are over and that Cartman needs his rest. I give him a quick peck before leaving, ignoring the fact that Stan and Clyde were watching with a twisted sort of awe. "So odd…" Stan states.

Back at the dorm, there are cops patrolling the halls. That proves to be a great comfort. Stan and I return to our room after bidding Clyde a goodnight. By the looks of things, Craig was already asleep. It's probably for the best. The sooner tomorrow comes, the sooner Kenny will return and he can forget he ever saw the corpse of the person he loves.

In an almost mechanically tired fashion, Stan and I get undress and put our night clothing on before brushing our teeth. Afterward, we turn off the lights and climb into our beds. I soak up the familiarity of my own blanket. I hate hospitals.

"Kyle?" Stan softly calls into the dark room. "Are you awake?"

"Yeah," I say. "What is it?"

"What happened before you fell unconscious?" he asks.

"I hardly remember," I admit. "I didn't suspect anything at first – not until he told me his name… but it was already too late for that because I drank from the cup he gave me. I struggled. I tried to squirm out of his hold, but he just laughed. He said he was getting turned on, and he said I wasn't getting away. I was pretty out of it, but I think I was awake when he first cut into my arm. I shouted but I knew no one was going to hear. We were in an empty part of the dorm and the music from the party was so damn loud I knew there was no point."

"Did he…?" Stan trails off.

"No, no," I say. "He didn't do anything like that. He just dishevelled my clothing a bit. I think he just wanted to scare me before I passed out."

"What a twisted asshole…" Stan murmurs.

"I know," I sigh. "The fact that I slept with him makes me want to die."

"It's not your fault," Stan says gently. "You didn't know who he was. You didn't know he was fucking mental."

"True enough," I say, smiling up at the ceiling.

"I hope the cops catch him…" he murmurs.

"They will," I say. "I'm sure they will."


	13. KM: Back to normal

**South Park © Matt & Trey.**

**Last chapter :P enjoy!**

**Kenny's POV**

* * *

I don't really get what happened. I was in my dorm, minding my own damn business when an angry blond stormed in. I recognized him as the large, tattooed freak that fucked Kyle. I asked him what he wanted, but he didn't say a thing. He just grabbed a fistful of my shirt, dragging me off my bed and to the floor. "What the fuck, man?" I shouted as I stood up. He didn't say anything. He just started wailing on me. Like hell I was going to lie back and take that. I kind of knew there was little hope for me. This guy was buff, but hey, I still tried. I think I got in a few good hits, but he played dirty. He pushed me into the nightstand and I knocked my head off the edge of it. I knew I was dead. I pity whoever found me like that.

I woke up in my room back in South Park. Fuckin' A. I threw on some clothing and hung out with Karen for a little while before bussing back to Denver. Hopefully Craig wasn't too upset. Either way, it isn't like anyone will remember it. Just Eric for some damn reason.

I enter the school and walk to our dorm's common room. I see Craig sitting with Clyde, Kyle and Stan. They look content, so I guess nothing too bad happened.

When Craig spots me coming down the hallway he stands up and runs to me, hugging me as tight as he can. "What's this for?" I chuckle, rubbing his back.

"I don't know…" he admits softly, touching our foreheads together. "I just feel really fucking happy to see you."

The afterthought of my death is probably still lingering. "Aw," I say, smiling slightly before closing the gap between our faces. "So, who gave you this?" I ask once we separate, lightly touching the bruise on his cheek with my thumb.

"Some bastard," he says.

"Ah," I frown. "I'm sorry I wasn't here."

He just shakes his head before asking, "So, where were you?"

"Family emergency," I lie, throwing an arm around him and heading towards the rest of the guys. "I had to head home quickly."

"You're lucky you weren't here," he says.

"Why's that?" I ask.

"Some guy named Trent Boyett tried to kill your friends," he explains.

"Trent…?" I repeat the name and it leaves a bitter taste on my tongue. Well, shit. I almost forgot about that fucker. I guess it makes sense now. "What did he do?"

"Shot Eric, drugged Stan and scarred Kyle's face," Craig reveals. "I think he wanted to kill you all, but he didn't succeed. He's probably on the run now."

How funny. The only one he actually succeeded in killing was me and I came back. "Well, shit," I state. Once we reach the guys, I give them all a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry," I tell them.

Kyle simply nods. He has a bandage on his arm and face. I hope what's beneath them isn't too gruesome.

Craig and I sit down and they tell me the rest of what happened, piece by piece. Then we regale Craig and Clyde with the story of why Trent wanted us dead in the first place.

"It all started when we wanted to play firemen…" Stan begins.

* * *

They finally let Eric leave the hospital the following day. Kyle takes the bandages off when he arrives back and we are all sitting together in the dorm room he shares with Stan. He cries out in shock when he sees the damage for the first time and I can't really blame him. It looks like he's got half a Glasgow smile. The stitches are probably making it look a little worse than it is. Once it's healed up, maybe it won't look as messy. Nonetheless, Kyle is upset. "Fuck," he whispers, staring into the mirror above the counter. "That's really ugly, huh?"

"It's hella ugly," Eric agrees insensitively, "but who cares if you have a few scars. Or, well, more than a few. You still look fine, even with the nasty cuts."

"It's a story, Kyle," I add gently. "A story you can be proud of."

"I beg to differ," he says bitterly. "All I did was get drugged, scream a bit and pass out. I'm surprised I didn't piss myself, too."

"You _survived_," I reiterate, dismissing his self-demeaning comments. "You survived something shitty and you were strong about it."

He rolls his eyes, not quite believing it.

Eric gives him a slap on the back. "Kinny's right, y'know."

"Yeah," I chuckle. "Don't worry; it doesn't make you any less pretty."

"I don't care about being _pretty_," he insists, spitting out the word. He places a fresh bandage over the stitches, covering up the mess. He probably doesn't want to see it, but I suppose that's understandable. It might take Kyle a long time to get used to it. "Ready to see the next one?" he asks us before unravelling the bandage on his arm. The damage is pretty bad. The bandages are stuck to some of the cuts and he has to peel them off slowly.

"Ew," Stan groans, looking nauseous.

"Jesus Christ," Kyle murmurs, eyebrows drawn together. "These all look self-inflicted. I look like a fucking emo kid."

"It isn't that bad, Kyle," I tell him.

"Yeah, it fucking is!" he shouts in disbelief. "They're gross as hell!"

I shrug. "They'll heal."

"And then leave scars," he adds distastefully.

"Scars fade with time," I say.

"Besides," Eric cuts in, "Remember what I told you in the hospital?"

Kyle sighs, staring down at his arms. "Someone help me put on a new bandage."

Eric doesn't hesitate to help him change the coverings. "There we go," he says. "Good as new."

"Yeah," I agree before leaning into Kyle and whispering, "So, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, shoot," he says with a sigh.

"You and Eric…?" I trail off, but he knows what I want to know.

"Yeah," he says. "Me and _Eric_. Weird, hm?"

"Pretty weird," I admit, "but you'll probably be good for him."

"AY!" Eric exclaims. "What's that supposed to mean?"

I roll my eyes. "Gee, I wonder."

* * *

They find Trent in a crusty old motel about an hour away. They arrest him immediately and say there's going to be a trial. Since we're all adults now, I have a feeling he'll be locked away for quite some time. I mean, he did try to murder three teenagers. He succeeded in killing me, but hey, I don't really count.

It's on the news. They wanted to interview the guys, but they all said hell no. I don't really blame them. Everything is taken care of and it's really no one else's business. We're all alive and we're all okay. We've succeeded in putting Trent away yet again and this time, it's for life. Then again… maybe, this time, he put himself in there. Attempted murder isn't taken as lightly as some playground bullying. Either way, it's almost euphoric.

"What a relief," Stan says later in the day. "I feel like I can finally sleep easy."

Me, Eric, Kyle and Stan are all sitting in a reading room. Craig has been clingy ever since I got back. He's never been that way before. I kind of like it. He's with Clyde now, though. I think they're studying.

"By the sound of your snoring, you've been sleeping just fine," Kyle laughs.

"Touché," he snickers, "but now I'll be sleeping even better."

I smile faintly at them both.

"So, you died again," Eric mentions.

"Yeah," I say.

"Me and Craig found you," he explains. "He had a fuckin' bitch fit after realizing you were dead. Holy hell, you shoulda seen it. It was fuckin' hilarious! Even better than seeing him all drugged up because he didn't punch me this time."

"Sadist," I mutter. I'm really glad Craig doesn't remember it. I don't want him to ever have such a horrible memory of me. He already has more than enough shitty ones. That one would probably take first prize, though.

Stan frowns. "I don't remember."

"Me neither," Kyle says. "Are you okay?"

I can't help but laugh. "I'm used to it, guys. I'm fine…" I pause. "Are _you_ all okay?"

Kyle shrugs. "You've been through it all before, huh?" he asks knowingly. "You've been shot, cut, drugged, beaten, bruised… You've died too many times to count and here I am whining about the cuts on my face."

I chuckle. "It's fine, though. It's because I'm used to it. You guys aren't used to it. You're allowed to be upset and afraid. I mean, fuck. If I wasn't used to dying, a near death experience would turn my world upside down." I shrug my shoulders lightly. "Don't be afraid to express it. I won't be offended. I don't hold it against you guys. It's not your fault you forget."

"But Cartman remembers…" Stan mentions.

"Yeah but who the hell knows why?" I snort. "Trust me, guys. It's fine."

"Okay," Stan murmurs slowly while Kyle just pats my shoulder.

"Ay, I've finally figured out what I want to spend my money on, by the way," Eric announces, pulling out a flier.

I snatch it from him and look at the ad. "A flat screen TV, huh?" I snort.

"Laugh now," he says, "but once I have it, you'll all be begging to hang out."

Stan and Kyle roll their eyes. "Speaking of hanging out," Stan adds a moment later, "The girls are dropping by tomorrow since it's the weekend."

"That's good," Kyle says. "You haven't seen your girlfriend in quite a while."

"Yeah," Stan sighs forlornly. "I miss her."

"Who is all coming?" I ask them.

"Wendy, Bebe, Annie and Red," Stan says.

I grimace. "Red is coming?"

"Yeah," Stan sighs. "Sorry, dude."

I shrug my shoulders. "I'll give Craig the warning."

* * *

At night, I sleep in Craig's bed with him. Clyde offers to leave the room, but we insist that it's fine. We're not going to be doing the dirty. We just want to be near each other. Clyde is taking a shower now, giving me and Craig a few minutes alone in the dark room.

"Next term, we'll probably have to change the living arrangements," I say, wrapping him up and pulling him close.

"Probably," Craig agrees, relaxing in my hold and pressing his forehead to my chest.

I should probably break the news to him now about Red. "Hey… uh," I start. "Look, did Clyde tell you his girlfriend is coming for a visit tomorrow?"

"No," Craig murmurs. "Why would I care about that?"

"She's coming with Wendy, Annie and Red," I tell him.

"What…" he trails off, inhaling sharply before letting out a soft groan. "Why is _she_ coming…?"

"Just for a visit, I suppose," I tell him. "Clyde probably didn't know. He would've said something if he did, but Stan told me she was coming."

"Well, fuck," Craig states. "I guess I'll need to find something to do off-campus when she's here."

"Or…" I start, "you could smile and act like you don't give a shit."

"She basically raped me, you do know that, right?" he asks dryly. "That's what everyone said, at least…"

"Yeah…" I say softly. "I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing," he sighs. "Fuck, you've said sorry way too many times. It's fine. Obviously I've forgiven you."

"Have you really?" I ask. Sometimes I really doubt it because he's still so bitter. Then again, he has reason to be.

"I have," he insists. "It's not like you knew what was going to happen. You just thought it would be funny if I acted silly."

Clyde returns a moment later, dressed in pajamas with damp hair.

From across the room, I can hear Clyde snickering and it's obvious he's trying hard to supress it.

"What's so damn funny?" I ask dryly.

"Ah... ah-ah… hah…" he chuckles. "You guys. You're just… really cute all huddled together."

"Shut up," Craig bites. He hates this kind of attention and Clyde knows it. He's just being a shit disturber. "Did you know Red was coming up?"

"No," Clyde says. "Is she coming up with Bebe? I just thought Wendy was coming."

"Nope," Craig states. "Red and Annie, too."

"Huh…" Clyde murmurs. "Well, that sucks."

"It's okay," he sighs. "It'll be okay."

"Yes," I agree.

* * *

When tomorrow arrives, Craig sleeps in 'til two. I tried to force him out of bed around twelve, but he wasn't having any of it.

The girls are here by now and we're all sitting in the common room. Stan and Clyde look incredibly happy to finally see their girlfriends again. How cute. All the girls think it is shocking that Kyle ended up settling with Eric. It's no secret they all think Kyle is too good for him, but I stand by what I said – Kyle might be good for a guy like Eric. Maybe he'll learn a few morals.

After regaling them with the story of Trent Boyett, Annie asks, "So, where's Craig?"

"Asleep still," I tell her.

Red rolls her eyes. "Is he still bitching about what happened at my birthday party a few years back?" Clearly, she's recovered nicely.

"That's cold," I say. "He has a reason to be unimpressed."

Wendy frowns and Bebe looks uncomfortable. "Er, anyway," the blonde girl says. "I'm really glad you're all okay."

"So am I," Wendy adds sincerely.

We chatter for a little while longer until Craig finally saunters into the room with arms crossed. He looks like he just rolled out of bed. He probably did. His hair is stuck up and he's still wearing last night's pajamas – a pair of black sweatpants and a t-shirt.

"Hey," I smile warmly and he just nods.

"Hi, Craig," the girls all greet him in unison, sans Red.

"Nice to see you all," he says with an incredibly forced polite tone.

"Come sit with us," I tell him.

"There's no room," he states, but I just give him a little smirk in response. He lets out a sigh, rolling his eyes at me. Slowly, he wanders into the room and sits on my lap.

"Uh, so…" Annie trails off, pointing at us.

"Yeah," is all I say and she nods.

"Okay, well… congrats," she chuckles.

"Thanks," I wink and Craig rubs his forehead with the palm of his hands.

"You're gay?" Red gapes at him.

He gives her an extremely dry stare, blinking a couple times before stating, "Yes." Oh, man. If looks could kill.

She flushes, pressing her lips together. "Oh," is all she says and Wendy makes sure to change the subject a moment later.

Craig doesn't stay for long. He's rigid. I can feel it. He's uncomfortable and tense. He listens to Wendy talk about her own university experiences for a few minutes before whispering to me, "This is weird. I'm going."

"Want me to come?" I offer quietly.

"No, it's fine. Have fun," he says, getting up and leaving the room.

"Is he okay?" Wendy asks, cutting off her last sentence.

"He's fine," I smile. "Just a little tired lately."

An hour later, I depart from the group and make my way back to Craig's room. When I open the door, he's in a fresh change of clothes and his hair is damp. He must've showered. He's sitting on his bed, laptop opened in front of him. "Hey," he greets without looking up.

"Hey," I return. "What're you doing?"

"Talking to Ruby," he says. "Wanna say hi?"

"Aw," I coo, shutting the door and sitting next to him. I stare at the computer screen and see her familiar face on webcam, "Hi, Ruby."

"_Hi_," she gives me the middle finger.

"Cute," I mutter dryly.

"_Craig, Mom wants to talk to you when she's done the dishes_," Ruby says.

"Okay," he says.

"_You should probably tell her that you're a fuckin' queer_," she cackles. "_Kenny, you've arrived just in time_."

Craig grimaces and I just laugh. "Your mom doesn't know?"

"No," he murmurs. "We were a secret, remember?"

"Yeah, I guess," I say. "How'd Ruby know?"

"_I knew because I'm not blind_," she cuts in with a snort. "_And I've seen Craig's computer history a couple years ago when I used his laptop to type up an essay."_

"What?" he snaps.

"_Yeah, sorry… I couldn't help it_," she laughs. A second later Mrs. Tucker's face appears next to Ruby's.

"_Hello, boys_," she greets.

"Hi, Mom," Craig says.

"Hi, Mrs. Tucker," I grin.

"_They have something to tell you, Mom_," Ruby says mischievously.

"_As long as you didn't murder anyone, I don't care what you do, Craig_," she says knowingly.

I snicker and Craig pales.

"_For the record_," she adds, "_Me and your father always had a feeling_."

"Uh… thanks, Mom…" he murmurs and I can't help but laugh.

* * *

After another hour of awkward group chat, Craig ends the conversation. "Do you always talk to your family on Skype like that?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says. "At least once a week, since I can't really be fucked to visit."

"Well, that's nice," I tell him

"I guess," he shrugs, closing his laptop. He shoves it under his bed before standing up and stretching his limbs.

I think the fact that he saw my corpse did unknowably permanent damage to him. It's unconscious, though. It isn't like he realizes it, but he's changed in a way. It's like, buried deep down, there is a part of him that remembers what it was he saw. I feel like I should tell him, but I don't know how.

"What are you thinking about?" Craig asks, nudging me.

"Me an' you," I tell him, wiggling my eyebrows at him suggestively.

"Oh, yeah?" he asks, not sounding like he's all that interested.

"Yeah, babe," I say. "But… on a more serious note, I do have something I want to talk with you about. It's really important."

He frowns, letting out a sigh. "Are we breaking up?"

"What?" I exclaim. "No… No way. It's nothing like that."

"Okay," he murmurs. "What, then?"

"Do you trust me?" I ask.

"Now more than I did earlier this year," he admits.

"Fair enough," I say. I've said it once and I'll say it again; I've never truly given him a reason to trust me. "Uh, okay. You remember what happened a little while ago?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Hm? You mean the Trent Boyett thing?"

I nod a few times. "Yeah, that… Well, I was here when it happened."

"I thought you said you were at home," he asks, eyes narrowing at me.

"It wasn't a complete lie," I tell him. "I did go home and there was a bit of an emergency…"

He gives me a strange look. "What the fuck are you trying to say? Just spit it out already, I hate when you take forever to get out what you want to tell me."

I rub my hands down my face and groan. "What would you do if I told you I've died before?"

"I'd assume you meant that you drowned and got revived or something…" he says.

I frown. "I died before, Craig. But I didn't drown."

He snorts. "Right, okay. I'll humour you," he says. "How did you die, then?"

"Craig, don't humour me. I'm being serious," I tell him earnestly. "I've been beat to death, stabbed, dismembered, set on fire, shot, shocked, pulled apart, crushed, eaten… Fuck, just about everything you can imagine."

He frowns, shifting away from me. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?" I ask.

"Scaring me," he says.

"I'm not trying to," I murmur. "I mean, fuck… It scares me sometimes, too."

He stares down at the mattress.

"Think about it, Craig," I force a laugh. "Remember that time we went to Peru?"

"Yes," he says bitterly. "I had lasers coming out of my eyes."

"Exactly," I state. "So… the fact that I die shouldn't be so shocking."

"Do you have proof?" he asks.

I shake my head. "The only proof I have are my own words… but Eric, Kyle and Stan know. You can ask them if you don't believe me."

He sighs, moving towards me once more. He lays his head on my shoulder and I wrap my arms around him. "It's okay, I believe you," he says.

"Are you just saying that?" I ask.

"I don't know," he admits, raising his head. He pecks me on the lips and adds, "You don't tend to lie. You cheated, but you never lied about it. I just didn't ask. For a long time, I pretended it wasn't happening because it was easier that way…"

"I'm a dick," I tell him.

"Yeah," he agrees, "but you've learned, right?"

"Yeah," I promise him.

"So, what happened?" he asks. "You said you were here the night Trent Boyett tried to kill your friends."

"He killed me," I say. "I tried to fight him off, but he won. Apparently you and Eric found my body."

Craig's eyebrows draw together. "I don't remember it."

"I know," I sigh. "I'm actually glad you don't remember it."

He's silent for a few minutes. He looks thoughtful, as if he's contemplating what I'm saying. "Is that why I feel this way?"

"What do you mean?" I ask, but he doesn't respond. "Come on," I urge. I know he hates talking about his feelings, but this is important.

He sits up. "I don't know how to explain it."

"Then let me," I say softly. "You saw me dead and you were probably pretty devastated. According to Eric, you were kind of a mess. He's the only one that remembers, for some reason…"

"Not fair," he murmurs.

"I know," I chuckle. "Anyway, part of you probably understands what happened and that's why you're needy lately."

"Needy," he repeats bitterly. "I'm not needy."

"It's not a bad thing," I laugh. "I like it. It just means you don't want to lose me. You're trying to keep what you thought you lost."

He rolls his eyes.

"Wanna go grab some food?" I offer, changing the subject. "It's almost six." We'll talk about my immortality again some more later. It doesn't have to be now.

"Sure," he accepts.

I stand up a second later, taking his hand as we leave the dorm. It feels good having people know about us. I wish I hadn't been so stubborn. Then maybe I could have saved him a lot of heartache. I once read that you're not supposed to forgive people that hurt you. Craig might deny it, but he's forgiving. I'm not sure if it's just me, or if he's like this with everyone. I'm not sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing. Nonetheless, I won't keep saying sorry. I know he hates it.

"I love you," I say out of the blue.

He rolls his eyes again. "Yeah, I _know_ that," he says. "I love you, too."

* * *

In the cafeteria, we meet up with the guys. They're laughing and joking around and it's good to see that everyone is already recovering from what happened. Once me and Craig grab some food, we join them.

"So, what's the good word?" I ask as we take seats.

"Not much," Stan says. "I was just telling them that I failed my last statistics quiz, but the prof is letting me retake it because of my apparent trauma."

"Oh," I snicker. "Well, that's cool of her."

"Yeah," Stan laughs, "but I don't think she remembers that quiz happened before the Trent Boyett situation."

"Hey," I tell him, "don't look a gift horse in the mouth."

"I'll help you pass," Kyle says to Stan. "I'm good at statistics."

"I know you are," Stan grimaces. "I… fucking suck at all math."

Kyle shrugs. "For some people, numbers can be hard to work with."

"Jew," Eric coughs.

I give Craig a humoured smile and he returns it with a little less vigor. To be expected. Eric and Kyle continue to bicker with one another while Stan rolls his eyes and Clyde murmurs, "Why are they dating, again?"

"Who the fuck knows," Stan snorts.

"It's the sex," I whisper jokingly and I swear, Stan's a tinge green. "Picture it… picture it," I say and he scrunches up his face, probably getting a pretty vivid image.

"Nooo!" Stan wails.

Ah, normalcy.

**Fin. **


End file.
